


Stealing Songs

by knittersrevolt



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Top Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittersrevolt/pseuds/knittersrevolt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey knew it was a bad idea to start messing around with a boybander, but he was just so pretty. Getting caught meant pretending to date his f*ck buddy. Apparently management thought it was better to be in a gay relationship than to be a gay slut. Now if they can both just get out of this with their hearts still intact.</p>
<p>Or...</p>
<p>That Band AU no one asked for where everyone knows that Ian and Mickey are dating, except for Ian and Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All of the Milkovich boys are just band members, not brothers for the sake of this fic, and Liam is a bit older than canon. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the related artwork by Bahoreal on Tumblr!

Mickey was smoking in the middle of a fucking hallway. When his manager had picked the hotel for the band to stay in she’d gotten them smoking rooms, or so she’d thought, but they’d been informed that there was one wing on the floor that was smoking, while the rest of it was not. Of course it had to be Mickey’s fucking room in the non-smoking section. If V caught even one whiff of smoke coming from the thick burgundy drapes she’d kick his ass so hard he’d be limping for a week, and not in that fun kind of way. She probably wouldn’t have given a fuck if Iggy hadn’t thrown a party in Mickey’s room after their last show. That place had been a fucking shit-show in the morning.

 

So Mickey was stuck smoking in the fucking hall, which was probably just as bad, but whatever. He kind of wanted to go beat on Iggy’s door until the fucker woke up so he could smoke in there, but he was pretty sure the asshole had taken a groupie to bed with him. The hotel’s walls were a weird beige colored wallpaper. The edges were peeling up in vertical lines. He wanted to grab the edges and rip until they showed the ugly yellow glue underneath. The thought made him smile as he pictured V’s face if he went through with it.

 

Down the hall a door clicked open. A tall muscular redhead slipped out without opening the door all the way. Mickey recognized him, fuck, everybody would recognize that ginger. Red was in a shit-ass boy band with his brothers. Mickey had been on tour with his band for five years and they didn’t have half the fame those shitheads had managed in the two years they’d been together. 

 

And Ginger was the most famous of them all. Not for being a singer, nope for being the first boybander who came out as a big ‘ol ‘mo before they made it big. That orange hair had been on the cover of every magazine available for months. Probably wasn’t even really gay. Mickey bet he did it just for publicity to launch his band.

 

Red didn’t look at Mickey as he passed him on the way to the vending machines. Mickey smirked. Mickey’s eyes followed Red’s form as he disappeared into the alcove. Damn, he was just Mickey’s type. He was wearing a tight black wife beater and sweats that showed Mickey that Red was packing. Usually Mickey’s band, The Alibi, got a floor to themselves, but they were in town for an award ceremony so they were double booked with the other band and their roadies.

 

The boybander stepped back into the hallway with a cold soda in hand. He met Mickey’s eyes just briefly before flitting them back to the wall. There was nothing there to look at. Mickey’d been staring at the same picture repeated every five feet all fucking night, so he knew the kid was just trying to avoid looking his way. 

 

If he hadn’t had three beers and more than a couple whiskey sours Mickey probably would’ve just let him pass on by, but he was drunk and horny.

 

“Hey, Red. You really gay?”

 

Mickey could hear him sigh from ten feet away. The kid didn’t slow down a step.

 

“My name is Ian, and yes, I am really gay.”

 

He looked at Mickey again. There was a fire in those eyes. Mickey fought not to chub up. The kid was within arm’s reach.

 

“So, Ian, top or bottom?”

 

“Fuck you.” Ian spat. Mickey could see his eyes glowing. He thought Mickey was looking for a fight, which sounded like fun, but maybe some other night. Mickey moved his cigarette to his left hand and reached out with his right to snag Ian by his waistband. Ian turned like he was ready to throw a punch, so Mickey let his eyes roam from that flame of hair down to Ian’s feet and back again in the most obvious way possible.

 

“Top or bottom?” Mickey let his voice go thick with lust.

 

Finally getting the hint Ian squared his shoulders bringing himself up to his full height. 

 

“Top. No exceptions.”

 

Correct answer. Mickey threw his cig into the ashtray trashcan in the hall before pulling out his key card to open his door. “You got someplace to be or do you want to come on in for a beer?”

 

The redhead lifted an eyebrow, “I’m underage.”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, “And I’m not really asking you inside to give you a fucking beer, now am I?”

 

The smile that lit up Red’s face at that was fucking blinding. It made him look even younger as he followed Mickey into the room. Despite being a room for pussy-ass non-smokers the digs were pretty nice. The bedroom was separate from a small kitchen with an even smaller island and an uncomfortable polyester couch that sat in front of a big flatscreen T.V. bolted into the wall.

 

The kid wasn’t up for a drink, but Mickey sure as hell was. He hadn’t been fucked in ages. No one knew he preferred dick, and he was going to make damn sure no one found out. Iggy and Tony fucked the local fans at every stop, but Mickey couldn’t exactly go pull and not expect to end up on the front page of some sleaze magazine. Fuck the paps. He let the swig of beer wash down the thoughts of getting caught. Red was already out, but it would hurt him just as bad if he got caught. Innocent young Ian in bed with big bad Fuck U-Up Mickey? Not good for business.

 

Mickey set his beer down. “We gonna stand here all night or are you gonna get on this?”

 

That fucking smile came back as Ian swooped in for a kiss. One firm hand on his chest stopped him before he could reach Mickey’s mouth.

 

“I’m not a fucking girl. I don’t need foreplay.” Mickey stripped his shirt off and dropped his pants to his feet. He pulled lube and a condom out of a his bag and set it on the island before bending over it. He could practically hear Red smirking behind him. Sparks licked their way up his muscles underneath his skin when Ian dragged a hand down Mickey’s spine. He turned his grip so that he could palm at Mickey’s hole between his cheeks. Mickey moaned as the sparks turned into a full burn.

 

The lube disappeared from next to him into Ian’s hand. It wasn’t as cold as he’d expected, but still cold enough to shock him forward an inch or two as it hit him before Ian slid a few fingers in. It burned in a way that Mickey used to hate, but now just fed his anticipation. He fucked back into them.

 

“Jesus.” Ian laughed, “You really are a fucking bottom.”

 

“Fuck off. I’m starting to think you lied about being a top.”

 

“Nope.” Mickey could hear the asshole smiling. “I’m just making sure you can actually handle me.”

 

That was kind of intriguing. Mickey looked over his shoulder. Ian was rolling the condom onto the biggest dick Mickey had ever seen in person. It wasn’t monstrous, but it was at least 9 thick inches. He knew it made him queer as fuck, but the sight of it made his mouth and dick wet. It had been a long time since Mickey had been that hard.

 

Ian was back at his hole with three slick fingers. Mickey meant to tell him to hurry the fuck up but just ended up groaning as they went in fast. Ian laughed at Mickey again when he white knuckle gripped the edge of the island as Ian crooked his fingers against Mickey’s prostate.

 

“Fuck you, Firecrotch. I’m fucking ready. Just fucking fuck me already.”

 

“You should work on your vocabulary.” Ian snarked before pushing in just this side of too fast.

 

Mickey’s head thumped to the counter. The noises spilling out of him were downright embarrassing. Ian was gripping his shoulder and hip hard enough that Mickey just knew there were going to be delicious purple bruises in the morning. His cock was thick enough that Mickey could really feel the pull as he hammered in and out just the way Mickey liked. They’d only been fucking for a minute and he wasn’t even close to coming yet and it was already the best sex Mickey had ever had.

 

When Ian bent just a little more to hit Mickey’s spot head on he was sure he screamed just a little. He blamed it on the searing heat still sliding through his veins when he splattered cum all over the counter, dick untouched.

 

“Oh, Fuck Yes.” Ian groaned as he humped Mickey through his orgasm. Ian kept fucking Mickey even though he was oversensitive and raw until he filled the condom with a moan.

 

Mickey was shaking, like a little fucking bitch, because he couldn’t stop himself. “Damn, Firecrotch. Where’d you learn how to fuck like that?” Even his voice was quivering. Fuck.

 

“From doing bossy bottoms like you.” He smacked Mickey’s ass. Ian threw away the condom while Mickey tried to reassemble himself. It was fucking unfair that Red had been 90% dressed the whole time. Ian turned that smile on Mickey while his dick was still hanging out of his pants exposing that nest of fiery curls.

 

What he meant to say was, ‘Thanks. Now get the fuck out.’ What came out of Mickey’s mouth was, “You got another round in you?”

 

“I will when you’re done sucking my dick.” Ian said, smirk firmly in place.

 

Years later Mickey would blame the whole fucking fiasco on that blowjob.


	2. Busted

Fucking conference rooms. Mickey’d never been inside of one until they’d signed their first contract, and he’d sure as fuck never been in one all by himself. V has called him in for a meeting. Just him. He could see her pacing outside the glass doors yelling into her phone. Thing was, he couldn’t even fucking figure out what he’d done wrong. Three months ago after he’d done a little too much coke and punched a dude’s teeth out she’d told him if he fucked up again she’d get him sent to rehab even though he wasn’t an addict. She said it was the adult equivalent of a time-out. Since then all the bad shit he’d done he’d kept quiet. But there he was, sitting in a squeaky leather seat, patiently not smoking even though his fingers itched for a cig.

 

If the glass doors could swing quickly, V would have slammed them open. “You are a grade A fuck up, you know that?” V spat the words at him like they could hurt him. She was wearing a white power suit that contrasted off of her dark skin. She looked like a dark avenging angel.

 

“What the fuck did I do?”

 

V put her hands on the table bending down low enough to give him a clear sight at her cleavage “You did a fucking boybander.”

 

Mickey’s stomach jumped into his throat. He swallowed down the bile that came up with it, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“I got a courtesy call from a friend at TMZ this morning. Somebody snapped a picture of you sucking face with that fucking ginger from 4Ever. Now, your ass belongs to me.”

 

They hadn’t been sucking face. That Mickey knew for sure. In the six months he’d been hooking up with Firecrotch they’d never kissed. Every time they were in the same town, somehow he’d end up with Ian’s number on his phone. It’d only been a handful of times, but they’d been pretty memorable. That first night with Ian was the first time Mickey’d ever sucked dick before. Mickey was pretty damn sure all dudes, even straight ones, liked ass stuff even if they didn’t admit it. Being face to face with a cock, putting it in your mouth, and liking it? That was the gayest fucking thing on Earth. And he had liked it. He could have convinced himself the sex wasn’t that good, if it hadn’t been for that fucking blowjob. Who else was he going to get to suck off without turning into a media circus? Except it happened anyway.

 

“We weren’t kissing.” Mickey was feeling numb and sick in equal parts. A week ago when Ian had left Mickey’s hotel room he’d sucked a hickey onto Mickey’s collarbone. Said he wanted to mark him.

 

“I don’t care what the fuck you called it before, from this moment on, we call it kissing. I’ve been on the phone with the higher ups, and guess what, they’re not happy either. Making you bi will just make you a slut to the media, and everyone knows it’s just a stop on the road to gaytown for dudes anyway. You see, we can’t have you being the asshole bad boy who corrupted the sweet innocent kid.”

 

“Innocent my ass.” Mickey scoffed, “Fucks like he was a pro in a past life.”

 

V threw her hands up. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mick. If we can’t fix this they are going to fire your gay ass. Hear me? You are neck fucking deep in scandals. Usually we can just pay someone off, but not this time. I need to spin this, and I need to do it now.”

 

“You don’t have to spin shit. What are they asking for it? I’ll pay it or you’ll pay it or whatever.” Mickey’s blood was crawling through his veins making him itch. 

 

“They didn’t call with a fucking offer. It’s done. This is going to be all over the news first thing Monday morning. I have a few ideas on how to deal with this. First-”

 

Mickey exploded out of his seat, “Monday? That’s two days from now! You’re telling me that in two days everybody is going to see that shit? That they’re going to know?” His breathing was getting faster. His hands balled themselves into fists. He was rocking from foot to foot, preparing to run without any place to go.

 

“My Pops is in fucking lockdown. He’ll hear about this, then he’ll get out and he will kill me. And I don’t mean like, ‘oh my dad is going to kill me for crashing the car’ like some co-ed bitch who’ll get grounded for a week. I mean the dude who once smashed a queer kid with a bat so hard it broke his rib into his lung and was left to die in the middle of the fucking winter is going to  literally fucking kill me. This can NOT get out, get it?”

 

He lit a cigarette because fuck V if she thought he could go without a smoke right now.

 

“Oh sweetie.” V moved to put a hand on his shoulder. He darted away like a wounded animal. V the warrior was replaced by soft eyed momma V. “I wish that I could make this go away. I really do, but the damage is done baby. The pictures are already out. You’re already out.”

 

Mickey buried his face into his hands, “Fuck.”

 

“We don’t have to talk about solutions right now. Do you need a couple of hours to think things through? Is there anyone you want to call?”

 

“Call?” His voice was muffled between his fingers.

 

“Is there anybody who should hear it from you before this gets made public.”

 

“Shit.” Mickey slumped down against the wall. He took a long slow drag just to calm his breathing. “My sister, Mandy. Have you already told the guys?”

 

“Kev’s telling them now.” V relaxed against the long conference table.

 

“How’d you know I didn’t want to tell them myself?”

 

V scoffed, “Give me a little credit. I’ve known you for a long time. Have to say though, I did not see this one coming. Don’t think I’m not going to kick your ass for it later, either. When we went through media training I know I asked if anybody was bi or gay. The big question is why’d you have to stick it in America’s Sweetheart? I mean, anybody else and we could have called it a casual thing, you exploring your sexuality or some shit, but you had to go for the most wholesome looking motherfucker on the planet.”

 

“Since we’re doing full disclosure, he puts it in me. Pretty sure he didn’t even want to step foot in my hotel room, but I talked him into it. Something about corrupting a thing that beautiful is just too hard to resist.”

 

V gave him another strange look, “Huh. Wouldn’t have pictured you as a taker. I’m glad you like him, ‘cause you’re about to be spending a hell of a lot of time around him.”

 

“Now what the fuck are you on about?”

 

She snagged the cig from him and took a drag. “So let’s talk options. The people upstairs have been trying to get you a cleaner image, right? I talked to Gallagher’s people and they don’t like the fuck buddy scenario any more than we do.”

 

“You mean the truth?”

 

“Semantics. Basically we want you two to say you’re dating. We’ll tell the media that all the drug shit and misdemeanors were just you acting out because of your closeted homosexuality and blah blah blah. For six months you two go on dates, you look happy, get papped eating ice cream and holding hands, then you break it off. You’ll both say it was a mutual thing. You escape with a better image, Ian gets out with his still firmly intact, win win.”

 

V said homosexuality so casually. Laid the whole plan out like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t his whole life unraveling before his very eyes. Every lie he’d ever told himself. All the hiding he’d been doing for his whole 22 years undone in a moment by one photo.

 

“I can’t date Firecrotch. I’ve never even had a conversation with him.”

 

“We could always go to plan B.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“We say it was photoshopped and the white guys who own you send you to one of those gay rehab Jesus camps.”

 

Mickey put his smoke out by grinding it into the carpet. “Fuck it. If Red is in, I’m in.”


	3. Paperwork

Ian had never seen Fiona as mad at him as she had been when they’d gotten the call from Mickey’s manager. She’d exploded all over him. In the years they’d been a band she’d managed to hide the fact that every one of them besides Liam smoked, that Lip smoked weed the way most people drank soda, and that half of them had records. The last box on the long list of things she’d been hiding is that none of them were virgins, except once again for Liam. It was a miracle that kid was still as innocent as he was having grown up Gallagher.

 

“Mickey fucking Milk? Jesus, Ian! If I had to make a list of 5 celebrities who would beat the shit out of someone for being gay, he’d have been number 1.” She’d railed at him, “You’re lucky he didn’t kick your ass, but now we’ve got this mess.”

 

Ian didn’t think it was quite the crisis Fiona did. He was a little sick in his guts that Mickey was being outed, that would haunt him for a while, but Fiona thought he should be ashamed of Mickey. He wasn’t ashamed, not even a little. He knew that having a squeaky clean image was part of the deal that came with the image and millions of dollars, that didn’t mean he had to stop living his life though. All of the gay celebrities willing to go on dates with him had been total pussies about it. 

 

He’d heard all sorts of bullshit excuses from ‘Sign this Non-disclosure Agreement before our first date, it’s protecting you more than me,’ to, ‘I don’t really like eating in restaurants, let’s just stay in.’

 

There was also his personal favorite from an A-lister, ‘I’m not really gay, I just want to know what it’s like to kiss another guy.’

 

Mickey had been the exact opposite. It was like when he’d seen Ian that first night in the hallway he’d just known that Ian wasn’t the type of person who would out someone. Mickey was gritty in a way that reminded Ian of home, made him feel safe. Plus he was amazing in bed. Ian had known he’d never sucked dick the moment his tongue touched Ian. He’d had no technique to speak of, but he had this completely blissed out look on his face that popped into Ian’s head every time he took himself in hand.

 

Ian had been well on his way to stupidly in love with Mickey for months. If his punishment for fucking Mickey was having to date Mickey he’d have to start breaking rules more often.

 

He did however despise the pile of forms laid out on the table in front of him. Within 24 hours the army of lawyers retained by the record label had whipped together contracts and NDAs. Fiona was smoothing down her suit. She was an amazing manager, she just had no confidence in her own ability. It broke Ian’s heart watching her. She always looked like someone was going to call her an impostor at any moment.

 

Mickey walked in looking like hell reheated. He was unshaven and even more ashen than usual. When he removed his sunglasses they revealed bloodshot eyes. Behind him was a gorgeous black woman who looked like she could call down fire and brimstone if given any provocation.

 

Mickey took the chair next to him. 

 

“You look like shit.”

 

“Thanks for pointing it out, Firecrotch. You look like a bunch of fucking daisies. Maybe it has to do with only one of us about to be outed by fucking TMZ. Fucking vultures.”

 

Ian fought the urge to sooth a hand across Mickey’s back. Fiona and Mickey’s manager exchanged cards and shook hands. Ian extended his hand politely to Veronica, ‘call me V’. Mickey just nodded at Fiona’s introduction.

 

“Alright, this is all very standard.” Fiona rubbed her hands together. “We’re looking at a time line of around 8 months.”

 

“Whoa!” Mickey threw a hand up to point at V, “You told me six months.”

 

Ian’s chest bloomed into pain. If Mickey was that against an extra two months of being around him, how miserable was he going to be while dating him?

 

“He’s right. We discussed 6.” V crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a stare at Fiona. Fiona pulled herself up to her full height to level one back.

 

“Six months means this arrangement ends before The Alibi’s next album drops. We all know this is going to be huge publicity on both sides. Our album drops in the six month window, so we’ll get all the benefits. Look, we were just trying to be nice, but if you want this done in six…” Fiona shrugged. One look at V’s face told Ian that the point had gone to Fiona.

 

“If Mickey’s okay with 8 months I guess that we’ll consider it,” V answered coolly. 

 

Mickey put his head in his arms on the table. “What the fuck ever. I am too hung over for this shit. Don’t I pay lawyers to look at all of this shit for me?”

 

The managers gave twin eye-rolls. “If you two had been able to keep it in your damn pants then none of us would have to be here on our days off,” Fiona scolded.

 

“Damn right,” V agreed. “The lawyers can read all the papers, but you’re the one who has to understand and sign them. You fuck up it’s your ass getting fired, not the lawyers’.”

 

“Then by all means, explain away,” Mickey waved them on without lifting up his head.

 

“The long and short of the NDA is that outside of the people in this room you don’t tell anyone that you aren’t really dating. The official story is you guys met a couple of weeks ago, and have gone out on a few dates-”

 

“Wait,” Ian interrupted, “You mean we can’t even tell Lip?”

 

Fiona’s eyes were soft, but her resolve was steel. “No one.”

 

As Fiona outlined the plan Ian’s attention split between her and the obviously hungover man next to him. Even with the space between them Mickey smelled good. Fiona babbled on about how many public dates they were supposed to go on a week, how many award shows they were expected to attend together, how the breakup would go, other general bullshit he didn’t care about. 

 

The breakup stuck in his brain. It was scheduled, planned. In eight months time, whether he liked it or not his relationship with Mickey would be over. Ian didn’t want to date Mickey if it meant an expiration date on even the casual sex that hadn’t been enough to satisfy him for months now. 

 

“The next two weeks are going to be critical. We want this to look like a sweet love story. Neither side is going to release comment on the picture at all. Mickey, it sucks but you’re going to be the big target. Everyone and their mom is going to ask if you’re gay or not. V tells me you don’t want to go the traditional route of talk shows and magazine covers,”

 

“Fucking right.” Mickey mumbled. 

 

“Then you two are going to have to go out in public,” V reminded him. “Act like you’re trying to be incognito and a few photogs will ‘happen’ to be where you are. After the pictures are out you’re going to be asked questions, it’s just the nature of the beast. The only thing we can offer is keeping you in interviews with the band, not on your own.”

 

“Thank Christ for that.” Mickey stood up, “I need a smoke. Red, you need a smoke?”

 

“Hell yeah.” Mickey strode out of the room like he knew where he was going, so Ian followed after.

 

“Ian?! What the fuck?!” Fiona called after him.

 

Mickey led him up a few flights of stairs to the roof. He had a cigarette in his mouth and lit before they were standing in the L.A. sunshine. He lit up a second and handed it over to Ian, ignoring his thanks. Mickey scrubbed at his face with his hands.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ian said, mostly to break the silence.

 

“What the fuck for? Did you take the picture of us in the hotel?”

 

“What? No. Of course not.”

 

“Then don’t fucking apologize. I knew that if I fucked guys at some point people would find out I was gay. Just thought it would take a bit longer is all.”

 

Ian quietly smoked while sneaking glances at Mickey. He’d never seen the man in full daylight before. The glinting of the sun off of his dark hair illuminating his every feature made him seem less mysterious, but no less beautiful. He gave Ian a weird look when he caught him staring.

 

Ian cleared his throat, “Did you tell your band mates yet? How’d they take it?”

 

Mickey chuckled, “They beat the shit out of each other.”

 

“Each other?”

 

“Yeah. We had this deal where if chicks at a show are holding a sign or whatever with one band members name or face, that guy gets dibs on the girl. If there’s a girl with like Iggy’s face on her shirt, but he doesn’t want her someone else can call dibs. When Kev told the guys I was full gay Tony tried to call dibs on all of the ‘Mickey girls’ in any crowd from here on out. Iggy called bullshit, said it had to be on a case by case basis. Ended up in a boxing match till I got back.”

 

Ian’s smile echoed Mickey’s. “What’d you do?”

 

“Told them both they were fucking morons and that it was girl’s choice.”

 

“So they’re cool, with, you know?”

 

“With me being a fag?” Mickey huffed out a breath while stubbing out his cigarette. “Yeah. I mean, Iggy’s keeping his distance like I’m fucking gay-tagious or something, but he’ll get over it. My sister’s going to beat me stupid for not telling her. It’ll be twice as bad ‘cause she’s been talking about how hard she would screw your brains out given the chance.”

 

“Yeah? Is she cute?” Ian teased. Mickey grabbed him in a head lock that he slipped out of easily. “And, uh, you’re okay with the monogamy clause in the paperwork?”

 

“There’s a monogamy clause?” Mickey looked genuinely confused. “I mean, I wasn’t fucking anyone but you anyway, but you’d think someone would at least mention it.”

 

“Fiona just did. In that meeting we were both just in?”

 

“You were awake for that? Come on,” Mickey opened the door back to the stairwell, “If I’m gone too long V will ship me off to Cedars Sinai for rehab.”

 

For the remainder of the meeting Ian sat just a little closer to Mickey. As soon as they declared the meeting over Mickey was out the door so fast V had to run in her six inch heels to catch up. Fiona shot him a ‘really?’ look that made Ian sigh. The ride back to their L.A. house was silent except for the elephant in the room. Ian had never been much of a liar, now he was going to have to lie to almost everyone he cared about.

 

The house was filled with all of the noise that Ian associated with family. All of the boys were gathered around the X-Box yelling at the screen. Debbie was sitting at Lip’s feet giggling at all of the comotion. They errupted into even more noise when they caught sight of Ian and Fiona standing in the doorway.

 

“Where the fuck have you two been for the past four hours?”

 

“Media training,” Fiona supplied. Ian was grateful for not having to start the lie.

 

“For what? Ian’s the golden boy.” Lip headed toward the kitchen to pull out some cereal.

 

“Let’s just say the Powers that Be don’t approve of Ian’s choice in boyfriend,” Fiona said not bothering to hide her disdain.

 

“Boyfriend?” Lip’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Michael Milk,” Fiona supplied.

 

“Michael Milk?” Ian was so confused.

 

“Yeah.” Fiona looked at him like he was crazy. “Guy you got caught fucking? Just met him a half hour ago?”

 

“Mickey. Michael Milk is his stage name. I’m pretty sure he’d beat me up if I called him Michael.”

 

“From The Alibi?” Lip’s eyebrows were up to his forehead. “Shit. Those guys all look like neo-nazis.”

 

Ian huffed, “Why does everyone keep saying that? He’s a really great guy, you just have to get to know him.”

 

Now everyone was giving him skeptical looks.

 

Lip ruffled his hair, “Sure, kid. Just like Darth Vader.”


	4. Out

Mickey holed up in his house after Sunday’s show to wait out the shitstorm that was Monday. He turned his phone off and just slept until it was 10 P.M. At that point he turned on the T.V. and was shocked to find that all the regularly scheduled programs were still going on. He felt like the world should have shifted on its axis with his coming out. The world of television didn’t really seem to give two shits, but when Mickey fired up his laptop his name was front and fucking center. There were a dozen articles analyzing his every move. Did he ever seem gay before? Had he been fucking around with other dudes the whole time? Was it a publicity stunt? 

 

Mickey shut the computer down and spent the night reading the contract he’d already signed until his eyes almost bled out. He only made it through the non-disclosure and the basic rules and regulations before he tapped out at 4 A.M. There weren’t any surprises, really. Well, except for the fact that the rich fucks that technically employed him didn’t give two shits that he was gay. There were enough gay dudes with hits in the top 100 at the moment that they didn’t care if Mickey got added to the list. They just didn't want him to come off as a slut. Nope, the only person who cared about the gay stuff was Mickey. Maybe Ian too.

 

His phone chirped with a text he didn’t bother reading. He’d zoned out through most of the meeting but still caught the part where Ian was going to show up at his house bright and fucking early. Mickey was mainlining coffee that was two parts booze. No way was he planning on being sober for this shit. The redhead showed up at 9 o’clock on the dot looking fucking edible in his tight t-shirt and low slung jeans.

 

“Are you drunk?” Was the greeting he offered Mickey at the door.

 

“Hell yes I am. I came out yesterday, didn’t you hear?”

 

“No, what I heard was a lot of people saying that the picture was clearly photoshopped by teenage girls because you are way too manly to be gay.” Ian tossed his hoodie across Mickey’s couch after removing it. Now his biceps were on display, taunting Mickey.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah. In fact,” Ian kind of shuffled his feet, “I think if we both play it off we could get out of the contract. I-if you wanted to, that is. I’m cool. Either way.”

 

For a second, it was tempting. “Nah. We’d just get caught again. I’m a dumb fuck. I have trouble learning from my mistakes.”

 

It was true. For about an hour after he’d first seen the headline, ‘Michael Milk Gay Scandal!’, he’d decided to never do another man for as long as he lived. He’d gotten it up for chicks before, he could do it again. After a few fingers of Jack he’d decided to give some lesbian porn a try. It was an hour of him being flaccid as fuck and slightly nauseous. He’d switched to straight porn telling himself that it was just to see penis going into a chick, like he could imagine it was him fucking her. It was harder to convince himself when he was watching a video of a redheaded dude plowing a chick with the smallest tits he could find.

 

Even then he couldn’t get himself off.

 

Now there was the redhead sporting the cock he’d really wanted to see right in front of him while Mickey was a little drunk and a lot horny after his botched jerk off session of the night before.

 

“I was reading the contract last night,” Mickey licked at his lips, “it says if I fuck around they’ll basically cut my dick off, but it doesn’t say shit about if you’re the one fucking me.” His eyes dragged up Ian’s body. Subtle was for pussies.

 

“You smell like a brewery, and we need to talk about what ‘dates’ we’re going on this week.” Ian’s eyes lingered too long on Mickey’s mouth while he spoke. 

 

“Well you seem to think I need a shower.” Mickey stripped off his shirt without taking even one step toward the bathroom. He locked eyes with Ian as he unbuckled his belt.

 

“You’re a fucking dick, you know that?” Ian caved. He turned Mickey around and shoved him toward the bathroom. “But I’m seriously not doing anything with you until you’re at least a little sober or a lot cleaner.” 

 

Mickey managed to kick off his pants without tripping on the way to the shower. Firecrotch basically pushed him under the water after adjusting it. He didn’t think he was that dirty, it’d only been two days since his last shower. He managed to sniff himself discreetly before Ian pulled back the curtain to join him. As always he was a sight to behold when he was naked. There were some ancient painters who would have killed for such a perfect subject, Mickey was sure. He instantly moved to take Ian in hand.

 

“Not until you’re clean.” Ian turned Mickey’s back to his chest and started soaping him up. Mickey’d never had massage before, never wanted one, but now that Ian was rubbing him down he was willing to consider their merits.

 

“There’s something I haven’t tried before.” Ian mumbled.

 

“You mean, like, in bed?”

 

“No, like on my taxes.” Mickey sack tapped him for the sarcasm. “You ever gotten rimmed before?”

 

From the sound of his voice Mickey could tell that Ian was staring at his ass when he asked. Mickey hadn’t ever gotten rimmed before, which he told Ian, who dropped to his knees with a solid thunk. Honestly, Mickey had always thought of eating ass as a disgusting thing, but now that Ian’s warm tongue was lapping at his hole all of the arguments he’d had before were fucking gone. They were in a shower, totally sanitary.

 

As always, Ian was acting like it was the best thing ever. Mickey was the one with a mouth on his ass but Firecrotch was moaning into it like he was the one getting violated. Ian smacked Mickey’s hand away when he gripped his dick.

 

“What the fuck Gallagher? You can’t just -oh fuck right there- tell me when I’m allowed to jerk my own dick.”

 

Ian pulled off making Mickey regret speaking, “I can if you want me to fuck this ass when I’m done here.”

 

So Mickey shut the fuck up and kept his hand off his dick. It was no easy feat when Ian was still going to town on him, adding fingers, and licking up inside. It was a sweet kind of torture. When Ian had finally had enough he tugged Mickey out of the shower to bend him over the counter. As Ian was pounding him into oblivion Mickey wondered if the flare of heat he got when Ian touched him would always be there.

 

They spent pretty much the whole day naked. Every couple of hours Ian would say they should talk about going out on dates and shit like that. Mickey would just start a new game of GTA or pack another bowl. Turned out Ian was almost as good of company when they weren’t fucking. He was funny and he liked to blow shit up. Plus he wasn’t half bad at video games; a quality Mickey considered necessary in someone he was going to be spending copious amounts of time with.

 

It was nearly 8 o’clock, they hadn’t discussed shit, and Mickey was starting to think maybe he should try the internet again. Ian was in the kitchen fixing himself some cereal or something like that while Mickey booted up the laptop. He went straight to Twitter. A shitload of people were calling him brave or an inspiration. He wasn’t sure if they were better or worse than the people calling him a fag. 

 

When a normal message popped up in his feed he nearly died of shock. When The Alibi released their first single another band, Seven Car Pile Up, released one the same day. Mickey hated those assholes out of principle. He followed their lead singer, Jared, on twitter just so that he could troll the fucker when he posted his hippy quotes and shit.

 

_In Jamaica enjoying the best view in the world! #Blessed_

 

Mickey wanted to choke him out. He looked up to the sight of a still nude Ian standing in front of a window that overlooked the Pacific Ocean which was glittering with the sunset. Looking at it probably made Mickey at least 10% more gay than he was while he was taking cock up his ass.

 

_The best? I don’t know mine’s pretty fucking good. ___

 

Mickey smirked and posted.

 

_Care to make a wager? You post your view, I post mine at 8:30 exactly. Most retweets owes the loser $200._

 

Mickey snorted. He must really be getting on the guy’s nerves. He should have declined. Instead he snapped a picture while Ian had his eyes closed, head tilted back while he finished a glass of water. The counter hid the firecrotch Mickey was so fond of, but showed off Ian’s entire naked left side. The angle flexed pretty much every muscle in those chiseled abs too. It also had a glimpse of the sunset in the background, but who gave a fuck about that?

 

_You’re on, but I don’t take bets if I’m gonna lose. Back out now. #candyfromababy_

 

He knew that he was supposed to come out in an official statement after he and Ian had gone out on a few dates, but fuck that. He was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. If he was going to come out, he was going to come out fucking swinging. At 8:30 exactly Mickey posted the picture. He slapped the computer shut before any comments got posted.

 

“Hey Red, when was the last time you played Mario Kart?”

 

Ian laughed, “Not so long that I couldn’t kick your ass. Hey, did you take a picture of me?”

 

“Yeah, you want to see it? I’m going to jerk off to it when we’re on tour. Now come on, Princess Peach, I wanna see some skills.”

 

They got in ten minutes of play before V called to chew his ass out. It was worth the 4 hours of media training he had to endure just to see the pissed look on Ian’s face when he saw the picture online. Plus he proved that no one would rather see some douchebag's vacation picks than Ian's gorgeous self. By about 200,000 retweets.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you know where the name Seven Car Pile-up comes from!


	5. Dating

 

Mickey knew he fucked up, he just wasn’t sure exactly how he’d fucked up. He’d shown up, looked presentable, hell, he’d even eaten the food like he was supposed to. Fiona’d gotten them into some swanky restaurant that cost a hundred bucks a plate where the waiter knew their names and was falling over backwards trying to please them. Mickey had tried to like tiny expensive food before. It had sucked then and sucked now but he thought he’d choked it down without being too much of a pussy about it. 

 

He didn’t get why Red was fucking fuming while they escaped out the back door. They weren’t even supposed to go out the back, the deal was to leave out front so that the vultures could take their pound of flesh. One of the waitresses ran get their driver around to the back.

 

“Shit Mickey, I’m really sorry about all of this.”

 

“What is it with you and saying sorry for shit you had nothing to do with? If anything I should be saying it to you.”

 

Ian waved Mickey’s half-apology away. “Fiona knew this would make you, well  us , uncomfortable and I knew what she was doing. Let me make it up to you?” 

 

The kid looked so downtrodden and sincere that Mickey had to say okay. The town car pulled up the back alley where they were standing. Ian got in first, scooting over to leave room for Mickey.

 

“Hello, uh, Tim, we would like to go somewhere that has a really good burger and the Mets game.” Ian showed off his white teeth smile.

 

“Now that sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all week.” Mickey groaned.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

 

The burger was fucking amazing. It wasn’t covered in fancy cheese or some shit, it was just some good meat dripping in flavor. Mets game wasn’t going half bad either. There was a T.V. mounted in front of Mickey with fucking golf playing on it (who the fuck watches golf?) and the Mets playing behind him. Mickey was torn between watching the game and shoving food in his face. He settled for stretching his legs out on the booth so that he could rest his plate on his lap and watch the game.

 

“Just come over here.” Ian laughed at him. “I’m not going to bite if you sit on my side.”

 

Mickey almost said, ‘but that would look fucking gay.’ It was hard to untrain the 20 years of bigotry rolling around in his head. He moved his stuff over. It felt awkward as hell. At least he could see the game while eating. Ian didn’t smell terrible either. Something about that red hair must have made Ian’s system run hot because Mickey could always feel the press of heat coming off of him, like an open oven. It felt good against the chill of the A.C. up so high.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, would someone please hit the ball?” Mickey shouted at the screen. Ian chuckled next to him. “I feel like I’m watching a game of catch. Fuck.”

 

“Mickey, calm down.” Mickey would deck anybody else who told him that, but Ian said it so fondly while stroking his arm. The fight flowed right out of him.

 

“You calm down.”

 

Ian rolled his eyes, “Do you even like the Mets?”

 

“Hell no, but where I come from, you don’t watch sports without picking a side.”

 

“Where are you from?”

 

Mickey lit up a cigarette. It was a smoking kind of conversation, “Chicago. South side.”

 

Ian gave him a weird look, “What’s your real last name?”

 

“Milkovich. What the fuck’s it to you?”

 

“You’re Terry Milkovich’s kid. Mandy’s older brother.”

 

Mickey was dumbfounded, “You’re from southie?”

 

Ian spread his arms, “Born and raised. I’m one of Frank Gallagher’s fuck ups.”

 

“Holy shit. I knew him. Broke his legs twice. Once cause he owed us money and once cause he paid us money.”

 

Ian stole the cigarette from Mickey’s mouth. “Yeah, that sounds like Frank. You know, I think I remember you. Did you piss on first base in little league?”

 

Mickey laughed at the memory, “I’d forgotten all about that. Huh, small world.”

 

Ian sat looking at Mickey with a small smirk on his face until Mickey asked him what was up. “Nothing. I was just thinking. Video games, guns, knives, baseball, southie. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date where I had this much in common with someone.” Ian looked away. “How about you? How was your last date?”

 

Mickey shrugged, “Never dated anyone before.”

 

Ian leaned back, “Never?”

 

Mickey shook his head, “Spent a lot of time trying to be straight. Never wanted to date any of the girls, never spent enough time with any of the guys. Hell, I think the only other guy I fucked more than once was in Juvie and even then it was in the wrong position.”

 

Mickey flicked ash off the end of his smoke and caught a glimpse of Firecrotch beaming at him like he was a puppy-rescuing superhero. It was hard to take in that much adoration. “Quit fucking looking like that. You’ll scare off the locals.”

 

He didn’t stop. His eyes got a little softer. They flickered back and forth between Mickey’s eyes and his mouth. Not for the first or last time Mickey thought about kissing him. He wasn’t afraid that it would be bad. There was no fucking way that mouth could be unskilled at anything. Mickey just knew that if he took one hit of mouth to mouth off Ian he’d be hooked for life. It was the same reason why he’d never tried heroin, he knew he’d never kick the habit.

 

“Hey guys,” The bartender knocked them away from their moment, “I hate to be a dick,”

 

Before he could finish Mickey was bracing for a fight. Whenever someone said they didn’t want to be a dick, they were about to be.

 

“But since you’ve finished I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

 

“Why?” The tone of Ian’s voice said he was spoiling for a fight if the guy talked mess. Mickey was already cracking his knuckles.

 

“Cause I had to lock the door to keep  _them_ out.” The bearded man pointed to the front windows. A crowd of young girls sporting 4Ever t-shirts and camera phones were pressing in on the glass.

 

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Ian fumbled with his wallet. Mickey made him put it away. It was only fair if he paid for their second meal of the day. Even with a 100% tip it was still way smaller than the first bill. 

 

“You should have asked us to leave earlier.” Ian said.

 

“It’s no problem. It’s my own fault. I saw one of the guys at the bar take a picture of you two. I just didn’t know it’d get out so fast.” The bartender glanced at the window looking overwhelmed.

 

“Twitter, man. It can be used for good or evil.” Mickey clapped a $50 bill into his hand with a shake. “We appreciate it. You got a door off the kitchen we can use to get out?”

 

Only a handful of the girls had made their way into the back alley. They screamed like goddamned banshees when they caught sight of the pair. Mickey put a hand at the small of Ian’s back to make sure he knew where he was when they hit the main crowd. They wormed their way through the mass to get to their car. It was another fight to make sure they were the only two who got in. 

 

“Jesus.” Mickey looked back at the sea of girls crying as they sped off. “I am glad I’m not that famous. I have never seen anything like that before.”

 

Ian was ashen, but smiling. “I’ve only ever seen it this bad when it was all four of us together. And give yourself some credit, you’re definitely A-list. You’re just not used to the teen girl crowd, they’re vicious. You’ll get used to it.”

 

Mickey frowned at him. Ian pinched him on the arm. “Now that you’re with me you’re going to need a bodyguard to protect you from the sea of tweens.”

 

“A bodyguard?” Mickey asked incredulous. “You’re lucky I like you, Firecrotch.”

 

Ian gave him a grin that Mickey wanted to lick off his face.


	6. Interviews and Family Time

Getting back on stage felt amazing. Ian lived off of the energy ebbing through the crowds. The age of their audience changed from city to city. In L.A. the shows were filled with teenage girls who would love to take any one of them home, if Fiona would allow it. At the rate Fiona was going Liam was going to be the oldest Gallagher virgin in probably four generations. He was an old 14-year-old who somehow still managed to retain some innocence. They’d done a good job as a family protecting him and Debbie from the pitfalls of growing up Gallagher. The rest of them wore it like a wound, etched into their souls.

 

After the show they did a meet and greet with fans. At least five of them asked Ian if he was really with Mickey. One even had a picture of the two of them eating burgers at the bar. Ian had the bad habit of flipping through the Michael Milk tag on tumblr before bed at night, so he’d seen the photo before. Mickey had a cigarette in hand and a small smile on his face from the story he’d been telling. The dopey adoration on Ian’s face made him wince. If Mickey saw the photo he’d show up and punch Ian out, it was that sappy.

 

They thanked all the fans and piled into the huge van chartered to get them back to the hotel.

 

“Hey Ian, have you seen this?” Lip handed up his phone from the backseat. Through Lip’s headphones Ian listened to a radio interview Mickey’d done earlier in the day. The first thing the DJ had asked Mickey after establishing he was gay was if he was a top or bottom. Mickey responded by asking the guy when the last time his wife blew him was. In the stunned silence that followed Mickey said, “What? I thought we were asking each other wildly inappropriate questions about each other’s sex lives.”

 

Ian thumped his head into the seat in front of him with a groan. Carl flipped around to smack him on the head. “Some of us are trying to sleep, asshole!”

 

Lip guffawed in the back. “Your boy has some fight in him!”

 

“Of course he does,” Ian’s voice was muffled by Carl’s seat, “He’s a Milkovich.”

 

“EXCUSE ME?” Fiona roared from the front seat. “Did you just say Milkovich? As in the murdering, raping, pillaging, I-can-dig-you-a-grave-overnight-no-questions asked Milkoviches?”

 

“The very same,”

 

Fiona gaped at him, getting redder by the minute.

 

Ian held his hands up in surrender. “It’s not like I knew that’s who he was when we first hooked up! I didn’t find out until Thursday!”

 

Lip leaned over the back of Ian’s seat and whispered in his ear, “Is he in touch with his sister at all? Cause if remember correctly she was kind of hot.”

 

“Aren’t you dating Karen Jackson?”

 

Karen Jackson was the new Britney Spears. She was a media darling selling out records left and right. She was also the biggest manipulative whore the music industry had ever seen. Rumor had it there was a video director who was going to ask her for a blow job in exchange for a music video, but she was on her knees for him before he even got the question out.

 

“Dating is a very vague term. She’s seeing other people, I’m seeing other people.” He shrugged.

 

“The difference is you don’t want her to see other people and she doesn’t give a shit if you fuck other girls or not.”

 

“Semantics, Jackass. Just more proof that you’re the half.”

 

It was a running joke between the boys and the media that it was more like 3 1/2 Ever since they weren’t all full brothers. Everyone outside the family just assumed that Liam was the 1/2 brother, and they just never corrected them. It didn’t really matter to any of them, they’d all been raised in the hurricane that was Frank.

 

“Fuck off. Just promise me you’re using protection. She’s got to be a bucket of disease.”

 

“Look who’s talking,” All trace of joking was gone from Lip’s voice, “You’re telling me that there’s such a thing as a clean Milkovich?”

 

“All I’m saying is at least the person I’m fucking is only fucking me.” The air between the two was thick. Lip had always been sensitive about Karen. Ian knew better than to poke at that crazy, he wouldn’t have if Lip had just left Mickey out of it. If Lip wanted to fight, Ian wasn’t about to back down.

 

“The two of you knock it the fuck off,” Fiona said vehemently. “Lip, you know Karen fucks around. Ian you know that in a room full of twenty guys you’ll pick out the worst one. You’re both fucked in the head. End of discussion.”

 

“Mickey’s not bad-”

“It’s not fucking around if-”

 

“I said discussion OVER!”

 

Ian tossed Lip’s phone into the back seat not caring where it landed. He hoped it hit Lip in the throat. He looked up Mickey’s radio interview on his own device. Most of the internet was hailing Mickey as a champion of gay rights. If he’d been straight he would have been labeled an asshole, instead he was being lauded for standing up for himself. The comments were filled with stuff like, ‘they would never ask a straight person that!’ and ‘that radio guy is a dickhole’. Mickey was coming out the other side looking squeaky clean. 

 

Ian texted Mickey a link to an article about how awesome he was. He got a ‘fuck you’ back.

 

Mickey: Hey Firecrotch, wanna fuck?

 

Ian: I would love to, busy until Monday morning.

 

Mickey: I think you just told me that if I show up Sunday night after your show you’ll fuck me till morning.

 

Ian: …close enough. 

 

 

The show on Sunday dragged on forever. The Alibi wasn’t playing that night, so Ian knew that Mickey was just waiting for a text to show up at the L.A. house. Normally after a show like that all of the kids would fall asleep on the ride home, but the audience had been crazy that night, feeding them energy. Liam was wired like they’d been forcing him to snort pixie sticks all night.

 

“Can we watch a movie when we get home? A good one? An action movie! R rated!”

 

“Yeah!” Debbie took up the call. “We’re not doing anything tomorrow until we get on the tour bus, then we’ll be driving for 6 hours. We’ll take naps in the bus if you just let us stay up this once!”

 

“We’ll see.” Fiona said coyly. Ian could already tell that meant yes, the others knew it too.

 

“Hey, Fi, Mickey’s coming by tonight.”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Oh he is, is he?”

 

“Don’t give me that shit. We’re both adults and you let Karen sleep over all the time.”

 

“You have a point.” She grumbled, “I don’t want to hear it. Not one peep. If Debbie wakes me up and says she hears moaning in the middle of the night I’m sending her to your room. And for God’s sake try not to make it as obvious as Lip does. I’m trying to not to fuck these kids up any worse than they already are.”

 

“Thanks Fi.”

 

Mickey followed the van up to the house in his black Porsche. Lip gave an Ian a look as they greeted each other.

 

“Hello, my name is Debbie Gallagher.” Debbie had her hand out waiting for a shake before they’d even gotten in the door.

 

“Mickey.” He actually shook her hand. Ian liked to think of it as progress.

 

“Very nice to meet you, Mickey. I hear that you’re dating our brother. Tell, me what are your intentions with him?”

 

“Debbie!” Fiona scolded. “You don’t have to answer that. I’ve been letting her watch too much television.”

 

Mickey nodded at them awkwardly. He slid his gaze over to Ian, his eyes wandering from head to toe.

 

“I’m going to give Mickey a tour of the house. You can start the movie without us.”

 

Lip snickered. Debbie bounded over after taking off her shoes, “I’ll come with! I know where all the best places are.”

 

“Maybe next time kid. Private tour.” Mickey ruffled her hair.

 

“I’ll bet it is.” Carl was wearing one of his more mischievous grins.

 

Ian marched Mickey away from the chaos of the kids setting up for the movie. “Sorry, it’s not easy to be subtle is this family.”

 

“That’s okay. I’ll let you make it up to me.” Mickey smirked at him. Ian knew better than to buy his bullshit bravado. Outside Mickey might be a badass, but in the bedroom Ian was in charge.

 

“Nah, I’m feeling kind of sleepy. Long show.” He sat down on the bed. “Besides, you asked me for this rendezvous.”

 

Mickey shuffled his feet, “Spit it out. What the fuck you want?”

 

“It’s not about what I want.” He zipped down his jeans and pulled out his cock. He was already well on his way to full just from watching Mickey shift in his spot. “It’s about what you want. I’m thinking that since I’m tired, if you want this,” Ian stroked himself, “you’re going to have to ride me.”

 

Mickey licked his lips, “Yeah, I could do that.”

 

His voice was husky with want, it made Ian even harder to hear it. He was a little disappointed that Mickey didn’t put up more of a fight. It faded away quickly when Mickey began undressing as fast as possible while keeping his eyes narrowed at the opening in Ian’s pants. Ian tossed a bottle of lube on the bed and leaned back on his elbows.

 

“You’re not even going to take your own fucking shirt off? Pants? Anything? I have to undress you if I want you naked?”

 

“Or you could ask nicely.”

 

“Fine, Red, can you please get naked so that I don’t get rugburn on my thighs when we fuck?”

 

Ian sighed with a smile. “I guess.” 

 

As soon as his pants were off Mickey was straddling his thighs, running a hand up the muscles of his stomach. Ian refused to lean forward and suck bruises onto Mickey’s collarbone, regardless of how much he wanted to. He wanted Mickey to do all of the work, something that Mickey clearly didn’t mind doing. He stared lustfully at Ian’s mouth as he scissored fingers into himself. Ian had never met anyone who could prep for sex as fast as Mickey. Barely any ass play and he was ready to go.

 

“You’re such a cockslut.” Ian moaned as Mickey took him in one slide.

 

“Yes, God yes I am.” Mickey ground out. “Long fucking cock feels so good.”

 

Ian could hardly keep up with Mickey’s brutal pace. He was basically just using Ian’s body to chase down his orgasm. Their quiet grunts filled the room as Mickey rode Ian into oblivion. Clearly the boy had been learning since he didn’t even try to jerk himself off. Mickey just kept slamming his hips down until he was splattering cum up Ian’s chest all the way to his chin. Ian gripped Mickey’s hips, forcing him to keep some semblance of a rhthym until Ian emptied his load.

 

“For the record,” Mickey gasped, “In about 10 minutes we’re doing that again.”

 

“No we’re not.” Ian tossed Mickey off of him with a bounce. “I’m going to go watch the movie. You’re welcome to join us.” 

 

Ian pulled his clothes on. He loved the way Mickey gaped at him from the bed. “You serious right now, Firecrotch?”

 

“If you’re good I’ll let you get off on my dick again when the movie’s over.”

 

Ian walked out of his room into the dull roar of the Gallagher clan. It had been less than fifteen minuted since they’d made their way to Ian’s room, the rest of the clan hadn’t even gotten the movie started. They were all settling into their normal spots with bowls of popcorn and doritos passing around. Ian took a spot on the long couch leaving enough room for Mickey to have the spot next to the arm rest if he decided to quit moping and watch the movie.

 

Lip gave him a questioning look. He was on the couch in between Ian and Carl. Liam had a loveseat all to himself. Fiona was in a single chair braiding Debbie’s hair between her legs. Mickey walked in grumbling. He plopped down onto the couch with a wince.

 

“Rough tour?” Lip teased. They both flipped him off.

 

“The fuck are we watching?” Mickey still hadn’t caught his breath.

 

“Terminator 2.” Debbie answered. She was giving Mickey a disapproving look. She knew what they’d been up to.

 

Luckily, he didn’t seem to care. “Nice.”

 

All of them were asleep before Sarah Connor even made it out of the mental hospital.


	7. Parties

Once again Mickey was left wondering what the fuck he’d done wrong. For the past month Ian’d been on tour while Mickey had been in the studio working on the album or writing music for singers who had no fucking talent of their own. He’d only seen Gallagher a handful of times since that morning he’d woken up in the noise of the L.A. house with Ian’s morning wood pressing in on him. It’d been a great fucking morning even if he’d had to deal with the madness that came with. Fiona had run through the daily schedule with each Gallagher while the others talked over each other and the clatter of plates and pancakes. 

 

The little sister, Debbie or whatever, had chatted his ear off. He’d barely grunted at her in return but she just kept running her fucking mouth. When he told her to shut the fuck up before he shoved a fork through her hand she’d sized him up, said, ‘Nah’ and kept going. Fuckin’ anarchy in that place.

 

Since then every time he’d seen Ian they’d picked up right where they left off. They wandered around cities together, went to gun ranges, watched movies, whatever they felt like doing. Every time they were together it was great fun followed by even better fucking.

 

So why the fuck was Ian acting like a total ass now that he was back in L.A. for some record label party? He’d been a mopey little fuck the whole time they were getting ready. The rest of the Gallaghers had danced around him but nobody would tell Mickey what the fuck was going on. Now they were inside some swanky mansion with a bunch of assholes who kept calling Mickey brave while Ian stood next to him stiff as a board with a fake smile plastered next to his freckles.

 

He watched helpless in a storm of small talk as Ian became more distant. The ginger was fading before his eyes. Mickey wanted to yell at him, scream to tell him what was wrong, but Ian was a polite fuck. He’d be even more pissed off if Mickey made a scene amidst the industry muckety mucks. They survived the dinner which was more tiny food that everyone praised that Mickey didn’t understand. He got sat with Ian on one side and Lip’s skanky whore Karen Jackson on the other.

 

The stupid bitch kept running a hand up his thigh while giggling at Lip. Mickey kept moving it and moving it and moving it until he finally cut a line across the back of her hand with his steak knife. She didn’t even flinch, which was kind of impressive in a creepy as fuck way. If anything she just giggled harder and wrapped her hand in a napkin. That bitch was 1000% crazy.

 

“I need a smoke.” Mickey announced. He made sure Ian followed him into an empty bedroom and out onto a balcony.

 

“I don’t think we’re allowed to be here.”

 

“I’m sure I don’t give a fuck.” Mickey put a cigarette in his mouth and offered the pack up to Ian. He waved it off.

 

“I’m trying to quit. Too much bad publicity, can’t get caught smoking too.”

 

Mickey sat down with his back to the brick. “Is that why you’re in such a shitty mood? Didn’t want to get seen with your bad publicity again?” It came off as more than a little bitter.

 

Ian slid sown next to Mickey, “Not everything is about you, asshole.”

 

“Then what is it about? I’m not about to start playing twenty questions or some shit. You’re having a bad day. Makes me think my chances of getting laid later are slim. So let’s figure it out so that you can get your dick wet later.”

 

Ian offered up a small smirk, “Get my dick wet?”

 

“Yeah man, mouth, ass, whatever as long as I get mine at the same time.”

 

Ian breathed out a sigh, “It was just a bad day. Some shit that I thought was buried came back.”

 

Mickey waited for a minute. “That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me? Jesus, I’d go back in to drink with the fucking geriatric ward if I wanted to listen to vague explanations about nothing.”

 

“Okay, I just… Do you ever look around at this crowd and think they have no fucking clue about how life works? I mean, I listen to these people bitch about working twelve hour days for three months to get paid millions of dollars and I want to beat the ever-loving crap out of them.”

 

Mickey nodded along, “Hell yes. I think I saw a baseball bat around here somewhere. We can start right now.”

 

Ian smiled in the moonlight. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at. When he rested his head on Mickey’s shoulder all he could think was, ‘this is pleasant.’ Pleasant? Mickey did not use that word. He did not like that fucking word. It was girly and dumb. Stupid fucking Firecrotch putting words in his head that shouldn’t be there.

 

“Fiona wrote a screen play.” Ian eventually murmured.

 

“And it was so bad you’ve been acting like a bitch all day?”

 

Ian caught one of his nipples and twisted. “No. It was actually really good, it’s what the play was about that sucks. The title is  That Thanksgiving . The second I saw that I didn’t even have to read it. I knew what it was about. One year around that time I found out that the guy I’d been seeing was Fiona’s boyfriend’s husband, Lip’s hood-rat girlfriend had a baby he thought was his but turned out Asian, and my bipolar mother slit her wrists in the kitchen before we could even cut the turkey.”

 

Ian looked at Mickey to see if any of that shocked him.

 

“What year was that?”

 

“2012, I think.”

 

Mickey took in a long drag, “Spent that Thanksgiving breaking into the houses of people who’d left for the holiday to try and steal enough shit to pay for the abortion my sister needed after Dad got so fucked up he thought she was our dead mother and got her pregnant.”

 

He chuckled darkly, “Southie Thanksgiving, am I right?”

 

Ian lifted his head up. “I’m being a whiner, aren’t I?”

 

“Nah man, I get it. Some mornings before you open your eyes you worry that there isn’t going to be enough food or how you’re going to wind up just like your parents. Then you come to a place like this where douche bags tell you that they were neglected as children because when mommy and daddy got a divorce they started paying attention to other people.”

 

That famous fucking grin was back on Ian’s face. “I should have known that you’d get it.”

 

“Wipe that sappy-ass look off your face. You look like a damn girl.” He didn’t. Ian’s face was all cut lines ending in a strong chin. He looked like a man who was looking at something he wanted to possess.

 

“Mick, when this is over, after the breakup or whatever, are we still going to be friends?” Now his face was open honesty, earnestly looking for an answer Mickey couldn’t give him.

 

“You mean can we still watch movies and shoot guns together? No.”

 

Ian’s face went hard in an instant, he made a move to stand up. Mickey tugged him back down.

 

“Don’t get pissy because I told you the truth.” Ian scoffed at him. “Look, friends talk to each other about who they’re fucking and if you ever did that I’d find who you were talking about to see if I could beat them straight. We’re not friends Gallagher. Not now, not ever. I don’t fuck my friends and I’m never not going to want to fuck you, so no, when this all goes to hell I’m not going to be able to be friends with you.”

 

The stupid ginger moron was beaming at him. “That was kind of romantic.”

 

“Fuck you is what it was.”

 

Ian answered with a laugh.

 

“And get a new laugh. That one is dorky as hell. You better now that you got all of those feelings out?” Mickey mocked.

 

“Fuck you. I don’t want to be at this party any more. You want to go to my place and watch the best action hero ever, Van Damme?”

 

Mickey gaped at him, “Van Damme? Are you serious right now? Seagal all the way. And you’re staying at my house tonight. I had to put up with you all night, I’m not dealing with Fiona’s Gallagher role call in the morning. Fuck that.”

 

“You sure you don’t want one?” Mickey held up the cigarette. It still had one good drag left on it.

 

“Oh, I want one, I just can’t have one. That smells like heaven though.”

 

What happened next was the moonlight’s fault. It glinted through Ian’s hair making it glow like embers. “You don’t have to smoke one to have a taste.”

 

Ian was confused until Mickey pressed his lips to Ian’s. He was totally right about Ian’s mouth being heroin, he knew he’d be gone after one hit. Ian’s mouth was warm and the perfect amount of wet. His tongue worked into Mickey’s mouth sinfully slowly. Mickey was always surprised at how quickly Ian could get him hard; turned out kissing was number one on getting him from 0 to 60. If Mickey’d had his way Ian’d be up in him on the balcony, but Ian tapered the kissing off and pulled away.

 

“You gonna let me kiss you every time you smoke?” Mickey was pleased at how breathless Red sounded.

 

“Don’t push your luck. Fuck, now we have to sit here until my chub goes down,”

 

“You mean until mine goes down,” Ian smirked, “Mine has some length on yours. Gonna take more time”

 

Ten minutes and any number of excuses later they were on their way to an epic action movie marathon. 


	8. Public Times

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to Ian that Mickey hated all things dealing with the public. He was fine with using Twitter to post pictures of the two of them together, but the minute they were out in front of actual real people Mickey shut down. Which is why it was a terrible idea for him to kind of command Mickey to show up to the set of the movie Ian was filming in New York. What made it possibly the worst idea in the history of the world was that the movie involved a kissing scene.

 

Fiona thought it was a good idea for all of them to start diversifying while the band was still popular. The younger kids were getting involved in merchandise, Lip bought equipment to start engineering robotics, and Ian auditioned for a movie. He couldn’t be sure if he got the role because he was a decent actor or because the director  (”Call me Ali!”) was a total wacko who wanted ‘authentic’ interactions. Ian was playing opposite an actor who’d recently come out as bisexual. Ali made sure her straight roles were played by actual straight actors (kind of a difficult feat) and out gay actors for the gay roles.

 

“CUT! What is going on here?” Ali, covered her eyes with the palms of her hands. She was dressed in hipster chic complete with blond dreds hanging limply from under a beanie. The entire set had kind of an earthy vibe according to her specifications. Even the craft services food was organic with vegan options. She moved her palms off of her eyes up to the sky. “I’m just not feeling the energy. I need the two of you to vibe. Can you vibe for me?”

 

Ian nodded and looked to his acting partner, Shawn. The guy was handsome enough, it was just the plain ordinary handsome of a thousand other guys. There was nothing unique to him. Put him in a crowd and he’d blend in with all the other middle class nobodies. Hell, Ian probably couldn’t pick him out of a line-up. This was the first scene they were filming together. Ali said it was because the characters only spend three hours together before kissing and she wanted the ‘raw feel’ of strangers kissing. It was raw all right.

 

“From the top!”

 

As set-up and playback started in the background Ian went back over his morning. Mickey’d flown in to New York on a red-eye flight. Ian hadn’t even known he was coming until he’d thrown open his hotel door and found himself with an arm full of Mickey. Despite having gone down on Ian probably dozens of times Mickey still refused to acknowledge that he liked doing it. Standing there in the doorway he saw Mickey glance between his face and dick while licking his lips. He knew what Mickey had shown up for. 

 

“The payment for waking me up so early is a BJ,”

 

Mickey didn’t even bother to complain before dropping to his knees. It was insane how much better he’d gotten in the months Ian had known him. The fumbling of Mickey’s first time was left in the wake of the skills that followed. He still couldn’t take all of Ian without gagging, but Mickey tried all the same. He sucked his way up the shaft, pausing at the top to swirl his tongue around the head before plunging back down. He always clutched at Ian’s hips, shoving his dick in and out of the eager mouth until it dripped wet and hard.

 

“Is it crazy to think you could know who you’re going to spend the rest of your life with after only one day?”

 

Shawn’s acting was not improving with each take, forcing Ian to picture moments with Mickey to try and drum up some chemistry with him. His bland lines served to pull Ian out of his reverie. “It’s not crazy if the other person knows exactly what you mean.”

 

The cameras got closer as they moved in for their kiss. Tension rolled off the crew as their mouths came together. They had been filming the scene for three hours at every possible angle. Ali banned ‘stage kisses’ early on, once again because of her bullshit authentic speech. Ian poured all of his want for Mickey into their embrace. 

 

It was possibly the most awkward take yet. He’d gone in swift and passionate, Shawn had been soft-lipped romance. They just could not mesh.

 

“CUT!” Ali covered her ears as she rocked herself back and forth. Ian’s acting career was not looking good.

 

“Jesus that was fucking painful.” Mickey’s voice cut through the awkward silence on set. Too late Ian realized that just seeing his sorta boyfriend put a dopey smile on his face.

 

“You! Newcomer!” Ali snapped her fingers at Mickey. “What is your name?”

 

“Michael.” It sounded wrong, would always sound wrong to Ian. Ian understood wanting to separate the rock star persona from the person, but that name was so far away from who Mickey was.

 

“Michael, I am about to fire these two men,” Ali said it like she was talking about the weather, “because they cannot do even ONE GOD DAMNED SCENE CORRECTLY!”

 

As she yelled her voice got higher pitched. She could probably use recordings of it as a dog call.

 

“The fuck you gonna fire Red for? It’s the other dude’s problem.”

 

“It is not!” Shawn protested.

 

“You’re saying you know what’s going wrong?” Ali crossed her arms leaning back in her chair. “Please, explain it to us.” It was a trap, Ian could see that from a mile away.

 

“Fine.” Micky stalked up to Shawn. He pointed at Ian. “He’s not a girl. Believe me, I’ve checked.”

 

“I know that.” A flustered Shawn shot back.

 

“Then why the fuck are you kissing him like he’s a girl?”

 

“What do you mean kiss like he’s a girl? You kiss the way you kiss, gender doesn’t change that.”

 

Mickey sized Shawn up. “I got a grand says you’ve never fucked a guy before.”

 

“Excuse me, Michael, I only cast people in roles that reflect their true sexualities for this film. He’s a bisexual.” Ali said condescendingly.

 

“Then he’s a theoretical bisexual.” Mickey challenged her, “Because that dude has never had a hand on a penis that wasn’t his own.”

 

“Shawn, tell this man he’s wrong.” Ali huffed. Shawn remained quiet. “Oh for the love of God, he’s right?”

 

“Just because I’ve never been intimate with a man doesn’t mean I’m not bisexual.” Shawn was blushing.

 

Ian wanted to beat him senseless. Mickey cleared his throat, “Okay, so you would hypothetically suck dick given the chance. Good for you. Let’s have a little lesson on boys vs girls. Girls need foreplay. They need a connection, they need time to get wet before you can bang them. Dudes? Not a problem. You’re kissing him like he’s a dainty chick you need to woo. Kiss him like he’s a barslut you’ve got locked in the men’s bathroom.”

 

They went back into the scene. They said their lines, Shawn grabbed Ian and brought him in for their 20th shot. He brought his mouth down on Ian’s so fast with so little coordination Ian’s lip sliced open on his tooth. He stayed professional, allowing the brutal assault to continue until Ali called to cut.

 

“That was better.” She said hesitantly. “Still completely awful, but better. Best cut of the day.”

 

“Holy shit, that was the best cut of the day?” Mickey gawked. “Have fun, Firecrotch, I’m going to get some food. This is going to take forever.”

 

“NO! Rude man, Michael, demonstrate.” Ali waved him in Ian’s direction.

 

“’Scuse me?”

 

Ali sighed heavily, slumping in her seat. “Don’t be so obtuse. You profess to be an expert at kissing men-”

 

“When the fuck did I say that?”

 

“-so show me. How can I direct if I have no example from which to pull?”

 

Mickey was uncomfortably determined as he walked up to Ian. Ian held one hand up, so ready to finally get his mouth back on Mickey’s. They hadn’t so much as brushed lips since the night on the balcony six weeks before.

 

“No No NO!” Ali actually stomped her foot, like a five year old having a tantrum. “Say the lines! Show me.”

 

“Fuck me. Fine. What’s the line?”

 

Mickey said the line completely deadpan. Ian got his mouth on Mickey so quickly he felt like he was pushing his lines between Mickey’s lips. The kiss was everything Ian remembered from the first time. There was a gentle force behind the kiss, just a hint of the violence that Mickey always mixed with sex. It was fast, wet, and hot. Ian forced his dick to stay down where it belonged. Mickey broke them apart with one firm parting shot.

 

“See? Different.” Mickey’s gaze never left Ian’s while he spoke.

 

“That’s exactly what I did!” Shawn protested. 

 

The room let out a collective groan.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

An hour later they had the shot, Ian was out of costume, and could finally get off set. Mickey was pacing the floor getting more agitated by the minute. He was flexing his knuckles, readying to punch someone out. Ian hurried over to his side.

 

“You ready to go?” 

 

Mickey was already walking away, “Fuckin’ been ready.”

 

Ian had to jog to catch up to him. He’d taken a cab to get to the movie, not that there was any way Mickey could have known that. For all the ex-thug knew Ian had a car sitting in a lot somewhere. Didn’t stop him from charging down the street towards his own Mustang.

 

“Slow down. I know that took way too long, but whatever burger joint we’re going to will still be there if we don’t get to the car this instant.”

 

“About that, I think I’ve had my fill of gay publicity shit for the day. I’m getting in my car, you go off and do whatever it is you do.”

 

Ian was dumbfounded. “What the hell? Fine, let’s just go to the range and shoot, or watch a movie.”

 

“No.” There was fire in Mickey’s eyes when he whirled around at Ian. “I’m done, get it? Done. There were cameras fucking everywhere. There are going to be a thousand pictures of us sucking face by tomorrow. You get exactly what you want. What I want is to go drink some fucking beer.”

 

When Mickey turned back to his car Ian grabbed his arm. For a split second Ian was sure he was going to get decked. If he moved his fist Ian was going to come out swinging. “It’s not like I asked the director to make us kiss on set. In fact, of the two times you’ve actually deigned to put your lips on mine, it was just that. Your lips, on mine. I haven’t initiated shit because you said no kissing, and I respected that from day one. Don’t try to put this on me.”

 

Mickey ripped his arm away. “You still don’t get it. This,” he pointed between the two of them, “isn’t anything. We are not dating. This is smoke and fucking mirrors. I don’t watch movies with you because I like you. In fact, I only like about nine inches of you. I’m going home. I don’t give a fuck where you go.”

 

Mickey slammed the car door shut.

 

The, “Fuck you!” Ian shouted after him echoed off the buildings.


	9. Stalled

“What the fuck, Mickey,” Kev said as he took in Mickey’s drunken bumbling self from the doorway. It wasn’t a question, just a statement sent Mickey’s way as he swayed against the wall, beer in one hand, joint in the other. He took a long slow pull on the roach. He was drunk enough that he couldn’t even feel how hot the smoke was pouring into his lungs.

 

“Kev, the sign on the door says, ‘Fuck Off’. Follow it.”

 

“I would, if I didn’t just get screamed at by Fiona and V. One is bad, both is like a hurricane of sassy crazy bitchiness. I can’t handle that shit. Explain to me why Ian says he’s not sure he can last the next three months with your dumb ass. Last I checked you two were fucking on every available surface and being loved up by the media. Just apologize for whatever it is you did and move on. I mean, even if you don’t like the dude you only have to put up with him for a few more months before-”

 

“Well maybe I don’t want to be an out and proud faggot for you to parade around.”

 

“Fuck you, man.” Kev looked ridiculous in his suit. It moved around him instead of with him. “We’re not parading you around, and nobody made you like dick. And you know what? This pity party tantrum isn’t about you being out of the closet, if it was this would have happened months ago when you first came out. No, this is about you being a fuck up. Now, call up Ian and make nice or I’ll-”

 

Mikey pushed himself a step forward off of the wall. “Jesus Fuck! It’s V’s fucking fault, not mine! You assholes, giving me Christmas and shit and acting like it was okay.” 

 

Everything he was saying made perfect sense in Mickey’s head, even if it wasn’t coming out that way. The beer was filtering into his head enhancing the buzz from the joint he had going on. His legs were heavy, but he refused to sit down. He hated his house. Kev bought it for him because he didn’t feel like dicking around in Real Estate, and V decorated it with an assigned stipend. There were unnecessary tables fucking everywhere, art that belonged in a hotel lobby and chandeliers. The chairs were decked out in expensive fabric that chafed against bare skin. Unless he could find where he’d thrown his shirt sitting wasn’t going to happen.

 

“Christmas?” Kev swiveled around as if he could find some context to help him make sense of the rambling. “How fucking drunk are you? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

 

“Fuck you, and yes, Christmas. It’s like god damn Christmas morning. V was all, ‘look at this beautiful shiny thing I got you? Isn’t it perfect? By the way, I’m taking it back to the store on New Years. Have fun with it, but it’s not yours. You don’t get to keep nice things.” Mickey trailed off. Saying it, confronting it hurt worse than he’d thought it would. He pushed it down with another swallow of beer. He had to tip his head all the way back to get the last few drops from the bottle. The sound of the bottle crashing against the fireplace was satisfying in a way not many things could be.

 

“Holy shit,” Kev was wearing his, ‘I’m kind of an idiot’ grin. “You actually like him. Good for you, man. So what the fuck is the problem?”

 

“We both know that _that_ kid is not ending up with me. He’s going to find some model looking asshole who’s really fucking nice and they’re going to live in a house that will be featured in ‘Homes and Gardens’ and they’ll adopt pretty babies from third world countries.”

 

Mickey ran a hand through his hair, stopping to grab a handful, “And I knew it, okay? I knew that he was too fucking good, but when it was just the two of us I knew that I could have part of him until that happened. He would have kept fucking me until he found Mr. Perfect, then V had to go and strap a god damn time bomb to it.”

 

“Shut up and sit down.” Kev pulled Mickey into the kitchen, throwing him into one of the metal and glass chairs surrounding the table that could easily sit 12. Who the fuck ate breakfast with 12 people? It wasn’t even half the size of the dining room table in the pristine white room down the hall. Why anyone would put white carpet in a room meant for eating Mickey would never understand.

 

Kev stripped off his suit jacket and rifled around in Mickey’s fridge. “Has it ever occurred to you to, I don’t know, TALK TO IAN ABOUT THIS.”

 

“Jesus you’re loud.”

 

“Damn right I am.” Kev clinked down a glass, an egg, and the tabasco. “You have a contract that says you have to break up, so what? Dude, it expires the day he leaves for the Asia leg of his tour. You tell some rag mags that you broke up, you text each other for a month, fucking Skype each other, have phone sex, whatever, then when he gets back you say you got back together. Bieber and Gomez have pulled that shit like 12 times.”

 

Mickey looked up blearily, “Those two are fake?”

 

Kev brought the awful concoction he’d thrown together to Mickey, “Hell no. What publicist or manager would let anyone date that train wreck of a man-boy? The point is that the contract doesn’t have to be the end. Or, if you want to do the self-destructive shit you love so much, why wouldn’t you at least keep on Ian’s good side so you can keep fucking him until the contract does expire?”

 

Mickey took a big gulp, wincing at the feel of raw egg sliding down his throat, “God that’s terrible.” He side-eyed his publicist, “You’re kind of good at this advice shit.”

 

“I spin stories and talk to people for a living, asswipe. Of course I’m good at this. What caused you to implode anyway?”

 

“I didn’t fucking implode.” Mickey finished the elixir with a cough. “It’s his fucking mouth. Addictive. Never should have kissed him. At least they have treatment centers for heroin addiction. Never heard of a place that treats people who lost their souls while making out with a ginger.”

 

Kev eyed him wearily. “Sure. Now sleep it off. I’m driving you to Gallagher’s hotel in the morning.”

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Mickey was so, sooo hungover the next day. He managed to stave off Kev’s nagging until noon. The Gallagher’s New York hotel was blissfully quiet, even if he’d seen a few paps snapping pictures as he walked up. The receptionist at the desk went pale white when he asked what room Ian was staying in. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she could squeak out that she was Mickey’s biggest fan. At least she was a quiet fan. His head couldn’t handle screaming. For the price of three autographs on any piece of paper she could scrounge up and a selfie, she gave him a key that could open all three rooms the Gallagher kids were sharing.

 

Mickey braced his pounding brain for noise before he knocked on the first door. There was no way he was using the key without knowing who was in what room. The small redhead girl opened it.

 

“Ian’s not in this room. He’s over there.” She pointed across the hall. She was decked out in a pink bathing suit and red shorts. Mickey mumbled his thanks.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

He cringed internally. Being mean to the kid wasn’t going to earn him any points with Red. “Shoot.”

 

“You’re here in New York for only a few days, correct?”

 

She spoke like a tiny lawyer. Made his stomach turn. She was going to be one of those kids who lost their childhood for wanting to be an adult. “Yeah, what about it?”

 

“How come you get to stay in L.A. so much?”

 

Mickey shrugged. “Not internationally famous like your brothers. Means I tour less and when I do it’s in the states or Europe.”

 

“I’m not famous. Could I stay in L.A. more?”

 

“I don’t know, ask Fiona,” Debbie dropped her gaze to her feet. “Hell, sure kid. You want to stay in L.A. I’ll make up a guest room for you. I’ve got to talk to Firecrotch. You mind?”

 

She nodded with a bright smile, “Yeah. Just, he’s been in a bad mood. Start with the sorry and keep it honest. That’s the best way with Ian.”

 

He heard her door click shut while he mulled over her words. Ian opened the door shirtless, gorgeous, and pissed. “Here to yell at me some more? Want to call me names this time? Accuse me of more shit I didn’t do?”

 

The ginger was clearly mid-workout. Mickey hated him for the way the sweat dripping down Ian’s pecks made him feel. The black workout shorts he was wearing weren’t helping matters either. Mickey was still a little drunk when he took the subway to the hotel. Standing in front of Ian, completely sober, shattered Mickey’s expectations. He’d meant to come clean, kind of looked forward to it in the inky black of his room the night before. Somehow the threat of rejection wasn’t so looming at night.

 

“I, uh, I was kind of a dick to you yesterday.”

 

Ian folded his arms across his chest. The muscles rippled under his skin, “No shit.”

 

“It’s- I’m just not really okay with PDA.” 

 

_Coward._ A voice curled through his brain.  _Pussy. Faggot._

 

“You got to come out on your own terms, right? Well I didn’t. My closet was pretty fucking comfortable. Shit, I still expect to get my ass beat down every time we’re in public together.”

 

The half truths were spilling out and Ian’s face was getting softer, less angry. “Don’t take your shit out on me, Mickey. This contract isn’t my fault. I don’t like the press either.”

 

“What contract?” A surprisingly female voice asked from behind Ian. It was that fucking prissy teen idol bitch, Karen. Before Mickey could wonder what she was doing in Ian’s room Lip appeared.

 

“What fucking business is it of yours?” Mickey snarled at her. 

 

She held up her hands with an innocent smile, “Jeez. I was just asking. By the way, Michael, I was talking to my producer and he said that you have a few song demos put together. Could I hear them? I’m always looking for a little spice for my albums.”

 

He couldn’t turn his face away from her fast enough, “You think we could talk some place that isn’t infested with Miss Teen Pop USA?”

 

Ian’s face said that he wasn’t amused; he still showed Mickey to his room in the suite.

 

“I don’t know how you put up with that manipulative cunt being around. I feel like I should make you double bag it just from sharing space with her.” Ian’s room was nice enough, generic in the hotel kind of way. The sight of Ian in a room with a bed had a pavlovian response on Mickey’s dick. Had to claw his nails into the palm of his hand to keep it from leaking.

 

“Why are you really here?” Ian demanded. “And don’t give me bullshit about feeling bad, because we both know that you don’t.”

 

That got Mickey mad. “Fuck you. I came here to apologize. You don’t want to accept that? Fine. We got time left together whether you like it or not. I’m not a good actor, so if we can’t get our shit straightened out everybody is going to know… and I want to keep fucking.”

 

Ian got very close to Mickey. Close enough that they were sharing the same breath. Close enough that Mickey could almost feel the press of sweat into his shirt. It was intoxicating, he was back to feeling drunk.

 

“Maybe I don’t want to fuck a guy who’s too afraid to kiss me.”

 

“Who the fuck’s afraid?” It came out breathy and soft, floating its way to Ian. Not exactly how Mickey meant it to be.

 

The lure of Red’s lips became too much for Mickey to resist. He let himself take a hit off of his newest addiction. He was clutching too tightly at Ian’s waist as he licked into his mouth. The stupid fucking tingling sensation that Mickey hated zinged through him so intensely he shivered with it, grunting as Ian caught his lower lip between unyielding teeth. There was nothing that could have kept Mickey from getting hard at that point.

 

“No.” Ian pushed Mickey back so hard he smacked into the door. “You can’t just be an asshole to me and get what you want ten seconds later.”

 

Mickey slowed his breath for a beat. “Then what the fuck? You want to punish me or something? You gonna act like a fucking girl and say ‘no sex for a week cause I’m mad at you’?”

 

Ian smirked, “Nope. I am going to punish you though.”

 

Like a scene out of bad porn Ian dropped to his knees, still smirking, and pulled down Mickey’s shorts. He gave a few firm tugs before sliding down with his mouth, slow and wet.

 

“Holy fuck. You are really fucking bad at punishments.”

 

As Ian slid off he let his teeth gently scrape against Mickey’s cock. Fuck if that didn’t do it for him. It was just the right kind of pain. The fucker on his knees obviously knew it because his grin stretched wide over Mickey’s dick. Ian suddenly sped up, bobbing and sucking while twisting his hand over the parts of Mickey he couldn’t quite swallow. His other hand made its way to Mickey’s balls, fondling them before sneaking backward across his taint to his opening.

 

Mickey was helpless to do anything but gasp and grunt as a mouth worked his dick and a hand worked him open. Just as he became a shuddering moaning mess, Ian stopped. He popped his mouth off Mickey’s dick and his hand out of his ass.

 

“What the fuck?” Mickey growled.

 

“Punishment.” Ian beamed at him.

 

Mickey kept growling as he stared at the ceiling. He willed himself down to half mast before trying to tug his pants back up. Ian stopped him by swallowing his dick to the root while shoving two fingers roughly up him. Mickey practically had a seizure.

 

“SHIT!” Ian worked him hard fast, just how Mickey liked him. It took no time at all for him to be right back in that spot, just to the edge of no return. Ian was brushing his prostate like a pro on every time he slid up off Mickey’s dick, then he’d pull out while slipping back down. Fucking nirvana.

 

Mickey punched the fucking wall when Ian stopped the second time. “Gallagher, I swear to fucking God-”

 

“You’ll what? Hit me if I stop again?” Ian looked really fucking smug for a dude with swollen red lips, “Jerk yourself off? You’re not going to do shit, because if you do, I’m not fucking you. What you’re going to do is let me suck your dick until  _I_ am ready to shove my cock up your ass.”

 

Mickey’s dick, who was doing all of his thinking, was smart enough to keep his mouth from saying anything.

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

Ian kept that shit up for an hour and a goddamned half before he shoved Mickey onto a dresser and then onto his cock. Mickey came all over himself like a fucking twelve year old on the third stroke. He probably would have been embarrassed about it if he hadn’t been blissed out from the combination of orgasm and kiss he received.

 

He was fucked in all sorts of ways.


	10. Stowaway

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?!” Fiona screeched at her siblings.

 

Ian winced. “We’re trying, Fi. We’re doing our absolute best to get this done. Yelling at us is not going to make Debbie just magically reappear.”

 

Debbie had gone missing. Sometime in a four-hour window she had just vanished. She’d told Lip that she was going to ride in Ian’s van on the way back, she’d told Ian that she was going to ride with Lip and get some dinner. When Lip arrived at the hotel he’d gone straight to his room with Karen in tow. Ian and Fiona had stayed up smoking and watching movies, nobody realized that the youngest Gallagher girl wasn’t in her bed.

 

“OW! Goddamn it Fiona! Stop hitting me!” Lip covered his head against Fiona’s blows. “How was I supposed to know that she was lying out her ass.”

 

“I found something.” Carl called them over to his laptop. “I was looking through Debbie’s bank records.”

 

“Debbie has her own bank account?” Fiona shoved him out of the way. “Since when? And how do you know her password?”

 

Carl just gave that evil mischievous grin. “You might want to change yours too.”

 

“Plane tickets.” Ian pointed them out.

 

“See? What did I tell you?” JimmySteve said. Fiona reared around at him. “This is good news! Isn’t his good news? She’s perfectly fine, she just isn’t, you know, in New York any more.”

 

“My 13 year old baby sister got on a plane to God knows where and it’s good news?” Fiona was advancing with murder in her eyes. JimmySteve was smart enough to back up a bit.

 

“At least she’s not kidnapped?” Jimmy ducked the shoe that flew at his head.

 

“According to her email the tickets were to L.A.” Carl pointed to his laptop screen.

 

“Carl, quit fucking learning other people’s passwords.” Fiona smacked his head, then patted the hair back down, “But, good work.” 

 

Ian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Mickey showed up as ‘The Thug’ on his screen. “Hey Mick, it’s not a good time to talk right now-”

 

“Because Debbie’s missing, I know.”

 

“…and how did you know that?” Ian walked away from the yelling chaos of the kitchen off into the hallway.

 

“Because guess whose baby sister was sitting at my table with my baby sister when I got home from fucking Vegas last night?” 

 

Ian could hear Mickey smoking through the line, “Why didn’t you call yesterday? Fiona’s freaking the fuck out over here.”

 

“The little bitches stole my phone. Debbie keeps babbling some shit about putting down roots, I don’t fucking know. When I was in New York and that whole movie thing happened she asked if she could hang out at my place. I thought she meant when she was in town and needed to get away from you fuckers.”

 

“Jesus. Fi! I know where Debbie is.” Ian called out. Fiona bolted over to him. She yanked the phone out of his hand and shoved him out of the way.

 

“Debs? … Put her on the phone. Now!”

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

In exactly no time at all Ian was all but shoved out of Fiona’s car at the airport with a small overnight suitcase containing one outfit. She told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome back unless he had Debbie with him. He wasn’t sure exactly how it was his fault that Debs ran off, but he also knew that Fiona wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind to argue with anyway.

 

Ian hid his hair as best he knew how under a slouchy beanie and slid on very dark over sized glasses. Normally he was able to get special accommodations in airports so that he wouldn’t get mobbed. Hell, he usually traveled with at least a couple people from the security team. There hadn’t been enough time between driving and booking the flights to do anything but get yelled at for getting mixed up with Mickey in the first place.

 

He was counting on the fact that people rarely look strangers in the face, and it paid off. He was able to slip into his first class seat with only a few people at the terminal discreetly snapping pictures of him. He could hear some of them ask if he was really The Ian or not. At least Fiona had gotten him on a flight that left within an hour of him getting to the airport.

 

Once they were safely in the air and he was seated next to an overweight businessman who wasn’t exactly 4Ever’s target demographic Ian connected his laptop to the free in-flight wi-fi. Since the disaster after the on-set kiss, or the Kissplosion as Ian liked to call it, he’d been trying to figure out how to turn his fuck buddy affair into an actual relationship. He’d looked up probably a dozen articles on how to turn a friend with benefits into something more and they agreed on nothing except that you had to figure out if the other person even liked you  like that .

 

That endeavor led him to a Cosmo article that proclaimed you could tell if he liked you if he got ‘that look’ in his eye while he was talking to you. Down that rabbit hole led Ian further into the recesses of the internet until he found an article titled, “12 Photos That Prove Michael Milk Hates Everything Except Ian Gallagher.” 

 

It was a series of side by side photos of Mickey. In one he’d be scowling, looking like he was going to take a baseball bat to someone’s head, in the next he’d be standing next to Ian leaving the gun range with a smile on his face. Ian was more than a little creeped out by the number of photos fans managed to take without him noticing, but more importantly Mickey wasn’t looking him in the eye in a single photo. What was the point of being hunted by fans and paparazzi if they had no pictures of what he wanted? Yeah, it felt really fucking good to know that Mickey at least smiled around him, that wasn’t proof of feeling though. That was just proof that Mickey liked his company.

 

The five hours blinked by as Ian got lost looking at Mickey’s fan pages. Ian double-checked that he cleared his history before getting up from his seat. He had a plan. It was probably a terrible plan, but at least he had one. Step one of this plan was to start training Mickey using positive reinforcement.

 

LAX was suspiciously quiet as Ian rolled his carry-on off the plane. He understood why when he hit the lower levels. Someone in New York must have posted that he was on a flight to LA because what looked like every papparrazo in the state was waiting just outside baggage claim.

 

“IAN! IAN! LOOK OVER HERE! ONE SHOT JUST ONE SHOT!”

 

The crowd pressed in from all sides. Cameras and microphones were shoved in his face. He could barely breathe through the mess. Airport security did their best to surround him so he could push his way to the taxi.

 

“IAN! IS IT TRUE THAT YOU AN MICKEY ARE UNDER CONTRACT TOGETHER? YOU’RE PLATONIC FRIENDS AREN’T YOU? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?!”

 

He’d gotten very good at filtering out noise from crowds, but that line caught his attention.

 

“No, we’re not platonic.” He managed to shout back before he ducked into the taxi.

 

The rhythm his heart beat inside his chest was uncomfortable. It was the term contract. Where had they gotten that from? He shook it off. It didn’t matter. What mattered was sorting out the shit with Debbie.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Mickey swung the door to his house open wearing a black button down open over a red tank. Ian wondered if the butterflies swirling in his stomach were aware that they were supposed to go away at some point. The cigarette that Mickey pulled from added to the sinful bad boy image Ian couldn’t get enough of.

 

“Took you long enough.” Mickey walked away from the wide-open door leaving Ian to close and lock it. The long corridor took them past the excessively large staircase back to where the kitchen opened into the living room. Debbie and Mandy were sitting on a couch giggling together over something. It had been a while since Ian had seen Debbie looking like the thirteen-year-old she was.

 

As soon as she saw him she shouted, “I’m not going back and you can’t make me!” She flew down the hall to a guest bedroom, slamming the door shut in her wake.

 

Mandy glared him down. 

 

“I didn’t even say anything!” he said in his defense.

 

Mandy rolled her eyes, “Men. I’ll go talk to her.” She put her hand up when Ian stepped forward. “Don’t try to come with. You’ll just fuck it up more.”

 

She went to Deb’s room leaving the men standing awkwardly next to each other in the kitchen. Ian fidgeted with the edge of his shirt.

 

“I’m really sorry about this. You shouldn’t have to deal with our drama.”

 

Mickey shrugged. “Whatever. She’s a good kid, not loud, cooks and shit. She’s here because she actually wants to go to school. I mean, who the fuck wants to sit through that shit?”

 

Ian sure as fuck didn’t, he’d been happy to leave that behind, “She wants to go to school?”

 

“Yeah. Mands and I took her to some uppity private school to check it out. It looked like bullshit to me, but she thought it was great. You can pay me back for the deposit on her tuition.”

 

Ian slumped against the kitchen counter. “That was really nice of you, but she can’t stay in California by herself.”

 

Mickey looked everywhere but at Ian, “It’s cool. She can stay here. Mandy’s here most of the time even when I’m not.”

 

Ian fought down the swell of affection that wanted to spill over his tongue. It was time for a reality check. “Mick, what about the breakup?” He dropped to a whisper. “It’s just a couple months away. School will just have started. It’ll crush her to just have to get up and leave again.”

 

The whole situation was so achingly real when he had to talk about it. It bloomed hot and painful under his ribs to even consider it.

 

“Who gives a shit? You want to have the ‘mommy and daddy broke up but we still love you’ talk with her, be my fucking guest. If I say she can stay here while she goes to school then I fucking mean it. Are all the Gallaghers like a packaged fucking deal or something? We’ll just say she’s Mandy’s friend. Fuck.”

 

Ian crowded a very confused Mickey against the counter before undoing his pants. “What the fuck, Red? Our sisters are right-”

 

“In another room and not coming out any time soon.”

 

As soon as Ian touched dick he had it whipped out and was jerking Mickey hard and fast.

 

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck?” Mickey gasped out around a groan.

 

“You want me to stop?” Ian slowed his hand down.

 

“Nobody said shit about stopping.” Mickey clasped his hand around Ian’s to start the pace back up until Ian was working him fast again. “I’ve been hard since you got in here. You have me hard wired to expect fucking every time we’re in a kitchen together. I just asked why, ugh yeah, why now?”

 

Ian dipped his head to lap up a bead of sweat rolling down Mickey’s collarbone. “You’re being nice to my sister. I like that.”

 

Positive Reinforcement.

 

“Aw fuck it.” Mickey whimpered then crushed their mouths together. 

 

Ian’s whole existence narrowed down to that mouth. His hand was still pumping, he was vaguely aware that Mickey’s fingers were running over his arms and hair, but nothing mattered outside of lips, tongue, and teeth. He could feel the vibrations of Mickey’s moans as their tongues dueled against each other. As Mickey reached his climax the kisses became more like breathing into each other as Mickey lost the coordination to do more. 

 

He spilled across Ian’s hand onto the tile floor and a little onto Ian’s shoes. Ian pressed a cum slick hand against the counter for leverage as their kissing resumed at a slower pace. Mickey’s need was replaced by lethargy. It took a few minutes for Ian to pull back and start cleaning up. He tucked his erection away, determined to ignore it. When they’d finished their silent side by side mopping up Mickey pulled him back in for more.

 

It was significantly harder to ignore his cock when Mickey was palming at it through his pants. “Not now, Mick. If you’re good I’ll let you suck on it later.”

 

That earned him a laugh, “You mean you’ll beg me later.”

 

Ian gripped Mickey’s hair roughly to bring his ear to Ian’s mouth, “Do you think I haven’t noticed how much you love having cock down your throat? You fucking love it and we both know it.”

 

He’d been trying to tease Mickey, but was succeeding in turning himself on even more when he caught sight of Mickey’s open-mouthed dazed look. He stole another few hungry kisses.

 

“Holy shit!” Mandy said smugly from the door. Debbie appeared from behind her. “Like, I heard you were gay and shit, but fuck, Mick. If you weren’t my brother that would be kind of hot.”

 

“Fuck off.” Mickey flipped her off. Ian let Mickey slip out from in front of him, careful to keep his hard-on behind the counter.

 

“Do I have to go back with you?” Debbie asked, head hung low.

 

Ian and Mickey exchanged glances. Mickey’s eyebrows said it all. It was Ian’s choice.

 

“Mickey and I talked about it, and we have to get permission from Fiona, but-”

 

He couldn’t finish through all of the screaming.

 


	11. What Needs to be Done

If Mickey’d known how much Ian appreciated people helping out his sister he’d have moved that tiny Gallagher into his house fucking ages ago. The sheer volume of the  appreciation he’d received before Ian fucked off back to the tour was staggering. And it had been some of the best appreciation the two of them had ever had, which was saying something.

 

Made him feel a little bad about what he hadn’t told the Gallaghers. His house wasn’t the first place Debbie’d looked to stay. Her brothers were in the famous band, but Debbie had finances of her own. More than one business person had recognized that her name and connections meant money. Debbie had been involved with several make-up and clothing deals, giving her funds of her own that she’d squirreled away. At least that’s what she’d told Mandy. The first thing Mickey’d done when she walked up was to ask why she didn’t just stay in the Gallagher L.A. house.

 

Turned out Frank and Monica were squatting in it. She gave them $200 each to not tell Fiona where she was before leaving again. Lil’ Red was bright enough to know that they didn’t mean anything but trouble.

 

Creaking open the white door to the oversized Gallagher mansion let out the stench of what might as well have been homelessness. The solid marble didn’t creak the way the house in Southie did. Made it more than easy to sneak up on the drunken pair sleeping it off. Mickey didn’t even need to look at Mandy’s face to know the look on it. A perfect mixture of disgust and anticipation of the fun about to be had.

 

“WELL WELL! If it isn’t my old friend Frank Fucking Gallagher and the woman who can’t be fucked to raise the children she pops out for him.”

 

Unappealing patches of leathery wrinkled skin were showing from where the blankets weren’t quite covering their nakedness. A house full of beds and those assholes had made a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room. They were surrounded by evidence of their own squalor. There were bottles, pizza boxes, anything old drunks liked.

 

“Mi-Mickey!” Frank’s voice was unsure, but he was trying to sound charming. The wheels were turning behind his eyes, looking for a way out. “I heard that you were seeing my boy. Didn’t have you pegged for a pole smoker, but hey, I’m a modern man. I have no issue with what the gays get up to in the privacy of their own homes. Speaking of homes, wasn’t it nice of Fiona to let us stay here?”

 

Mickey let the tire iron slide out of the sleeve of his leather jacket. Mandy flipped open her butterfly knife. “We both know that’s not exactly what happened.”

 

“This is where my kids live!” Frank was trying to work himself up to being angry. “Three of them are under 18! They need the love and guidance of their parents to help them navigate the savage world that is Hollyweird.”

 

“Hmmm.” Mandy waved her phone at them. “Took me all of ten seconds on the internet to learn that they’re in Georgia for a show tonight.”

 

“Oh!” Monica said with fake cheer. “That’s where they are, Frank! We should just get dressed and head on out then.”

 

As Frank moved to pull on his vomit-and-piss soaked clothes Mickey pressed the tire iron against his Adam’s apple. “You see, Frankie boy, the way I see it you’re not so concerned about parenting the kids, Fiona’s kids, as you are about the money you think you can get off of them. You think that since they’re still kids and you shot your load into that cum dumpster you have some right to what they earn, like this house for example.”

 

Mandy crouched down low near Monica who was mostly dressed. “You’d be wrong about that.”

 

“So here’s what we’re going to do. Me and Mandy, we’re going to chock this up to a mistake…”

 

Mandy trailed the blade across Monica’s arm. “A big fucking mistake.”

 

“… and we’re going to let you go to ponder about this mistake. Now, if you ever even think about getting near Fi’s kids again? It’s going to be a Milkovich party. Frank remembers. You ever been to Milkovich party, Monica? They’re a fucking blast.”

 

“SO much fun.” Mandy agreed.

 

Mickey pressed down just a little bit harder. “Might not be as much fun for you as it is for us.” 

 

They got out pretty fucking quick. Mickey called up his maid service to clean the stink out of the carpets before the kids could get home. There were only three shows left on the U.S. leg of the 4Ever tour. In less than a week all of the Gallaghers had almost a month off. Mickey shuddered just to think about 23 days uninterrupted with Firecrotch. He was conveniently ignoring the part where five days after that their very public breakup was scheduled.

 

“Mick, look at this.” Mandy handed him her phone as they headed toward the Porsche Mickey bought himself as a present. It was a video of Lip’s popslut girlfriend going nuts. She was pulling a Britney Spears inside of a salon. Cut her hair to her shoulder, dyed it black, was ranting and raving all over the place.

 

“Jesus. The fuck happened to her?”

 

They ducked into the car. Mickey handed the phone back and started the car while Mandy told the story. “Karen went to some charity shit last night with her Dad. Someone got film of her getting fucked in the bathroom by some old rich dude. Her Dad caught her coming out and called her a whore in front of everyone. She’s imploding. Super funny.”

 

“Saw that shit coming from a mile away. She’s crazier than a sack full of cats on Meth. You know that she tried to fuck me?”

 

“Yeah,” Mandy giggled, “Did you know that she gave Ian his first and only blowjob from a girl?”

 

“The fuck? How do you even know that? Why would you know that?”

 

Mandy grinned, “Debs told me. She heard Lip and Ian yelling about it. Ian was using it as proof of what a whore she is.” Mandy started scrolling through her phone. “Looks like he was right.”

 

They zipped down the freeway. Mandy was drilling holes in his head with her eyes. “The fuck you looking at? You got something to say?”

 

“Are we really not talking about this?”

 

“Talking about how we nearly beat Frank and Monica back to where they belong?” He shrugged, “Kind of mad I didn’t get to break some kneecaps.”

 

“Me too, but you know that’s not what I’m asking about.”

 

He concentrated hard on the road. “Don’t know what-”

 

“Oh cut the shit! You leave a voicemail message on my phone that sums up to, ‘I’m a fag’ then don’t talk to me until I show up on your doorstep.” Yeah, she was bitter.

 

“Just because I like cock doesn’t mean I want to start talking about my feelings and shit.”

 

“Well too bad, because I want to talk. I’ve never seen you like someone before. It’s freaking me out a little.”

 

Mickey took the next turn a little harder than necessary. “I didn’t say I liked him.”

 

“Didn’t have to. You’re letting his kid sister live with you for Christ’s sake! The Mickey  _I_ know would never let that happen. That Mickey would have kicked her out on her ass or sent her to those fucked-up douche bags, not started waving the tire iron.”

 

Finally they were at the house, “We’re done here.”

 

She slapped his hand away when he tried to unbuckle. “Just don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?” Mickey demanded.

 

“Don’t fuck up or run away or pull any other Milkovich bullshit. You’re out of Terry’s house, Mick. We made it. Not everything is a fight anymore.”


	12. The Charts

For a month and a half 4Ever had been topping the charts with their new album. Their first single  Always Mine had been an instant success, and despite the fact that the song was recorded months before Ian and Mickey got together everyone assumed it was about the two of them. Ian hadn’t even been in the state when it was written. As happy as he was that his livelihood wasn’t in jeopardy, Ian didn’t really care about his record. The Gallagher brothers formed 4Ever to win a local Battle of the Bands when they’d been low on cash. They didn’t even like most of what they put out, they just kind of did it.

 

What had Ian on the edge of his seat biting his nails was the debut of the new Alibi album. It came out on a Friday, and then it was creeping up on Sunday and Ian was still too chicken shit to look at where it was on the charts. Mickey claimed he didn’t give a shit either way, but Ian knew better. Mickey worked on his songs, poured heart and soul into melodies. It didn’t matter that he didn’t write lyrics, Ian could hear exactly what he meant with every note.

 

“Oh my God! Would you just look already?” Debbie rolled her eyes at him from her chair. The entire clan was in California getting ready for the VMAs at the Gallagher mansion, and they’d all been watching him pace to the laptop, sit down, and get right back up before he typed anything into the browser.

 

“No. No.” He held his hands up and backed away. “I’ll just go get into my tux and leave it alone.”

 

“You mean you’ll get into make-up.” Carl sneered from the couch. “Look at me! I look like a fucking clown!”

 

“Language!” Fiona screamed from the other room.

 

Ian grabbed a beer from the fridge and pointedly did not look at the computer on his way to the back bedroom where all the primping was taking place. He was glad he wasn’t in Fiona’s shoes. She’d been in with the stylists since 9 in the morning. They weren’t leaving for the venue until 4 PM.

 

“If that fucking child swears in front of the press I’m going to cut his balls off.”

 

“Your face didn’t even move just now. It’s like you’re too shellacked into place to make emotions. Did you take a hit of Botox?”

 

“Fuck you. I’m not ruining my make-up for Carl until after I walk the red carpet. But I mean it. I will make him unable to reproduce devil-spawn children.”

 

Ian sank into the spinning chair next to Fiona. A stylist was on his hair with a spray bottle and scissors before he could mutter a protest. On her other side was Lip who had gladly gone in for his turn since it meant being surrounded with beautiful women. The only person responding to his advances was Jorge, who was 45 and happily married to their sound guy, but they both seemed to be having fun.

 

“You think the pure evil that lives in his heart can be passed down genetically.”

 

“Call him evil again and he won’t be the only de-balled brother. He’s not inherently bad, he just likes to light things on fire and torture neighborhood children.”

 

Ian side-eyed her.

 

“Hey, psychopathic isn’t evil until he starts killing people.”

 

“I see,” Ian said as the stylist made impatient noises as she tilted his head around, “So poisoning our uncle, knee-capping people, and throwing dudes out windows isn’t hurting people.”

 

“Ha ha.” Fiona’s stylist, Jenny, said sarcastically. “He didn’t do any of that stuff. If he did you guys would have him locked up.”

 

Ian lifted his eyebrows at Fiona as she hastily laughed it all off. When Jenny went to go pick up more hair dye Fiona whispered, “He had reasons for all of that!”

 

“Poison, Fiona. On purpose.”

 

Jenny swooped back to Fiona’s side. “Ian, have you heard about the new Alibi album yet?” Fiona asked through a wide fake smile.

 

“What about it?” Mickey asked from the doorway.

 

“Mickey!” Ian hated the way his voice flooded with affection.

 

“What up, Ginger?” Mickey grabbed a hand-full of Ian’s hair. “Not going too short are ya? I like having something to grab hold of.”

 

The stylist shooed him away, “Keep interrupting me and I’ll buzz it off.”

 

Mickey flipped her off and settled onto the bed. “So what the fuck about my album?” Mick lit up a cigarette. Ian’s chest burned with want, whether for the lips or the tobacco he couldn’t tell.

 

“Ian refuses to open iTunes because he’s too much of a pussy to check where it landed.”

 

“Jesus. Why do you give a shit?”

 

“Honey, quit being such a man.” Jorge scoffed from across the room. “Ian just wants to know that his boo is doing okay.”

 

“His boo? I’m going to go sit in the living room, it’s too fucking weird in here.”

 

“Oh no you don’t! Jorge swooped in with a towel to lead Mickey into the chair Lip vacated. “It’s your turn mister! I know you’re performing tonight! I’m not letting you walk out on stage like that!”

 

“Last I checked I still have my balls. If I walk out who’s going to stop me?”

 

“Me!” V’s voice pierced the air out of Fiona’s phone. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking out of the house? I’m on my way over there right now!”

 

“How’d you find me?” Mickey grumped reluctantly into Jorge’s chair.

 

“Bitch, please. I had Fiona on the phone before you even got there.”

 

Ian’s heart expanded. Mickey thought of his house as an escape. Now if he could just get Mickey to  admit that he liked spending time with the Gallagher Clan. Phase one of the plan, Positive Reinforcement, was easy enough because Mickey lived for praise and blow jobs. Ian was pretty sure that praise was on Mickey’s list of secret kinks.

 

Phase two was proving to be a much bigger challenge. Mickey hated talking about feelings more than he loved bottoming, and that was saying something. Ian spent a week asking everyone how to get someone to open up. They all gave him the same advice. Show your vulnerable side first, and then they’ll show you theirs. None of these people were dating Mickey.

 

“I know how hard you worked on the album and I just want you to be successful. Have you looked at the billboards yet?”

 

“Fuck no! At some point I’ll get a royalty check and it’ll either be big or it’ll be small. Fuck the Billboard 100.”

 

Well, at least he tried.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The next few hours were a blur of hair and tuxes and limos. Everything was chaotic as they were whisked away. Fiona and V both gave them the standard manager speech, checked everyone over and made sure they knew what reporters to talk to and which ones to avoid. Ian and the other 4Ever boys were pulled out to top at all the stations going down the line. They answered every question about the record while side-stepping the ones about their rough background. It had been talked about to death, but it was what the reporters ate up.

 

“Lip, tell us about what’s going on with Karen. How’s she doing? You two were together at the time of her blowup, weren’t you?”

 

Lip’s fists clenched closed. Ian looked off to Fiona who shook her head. It was an unauthorized question, but they were on a live news feed.

 

“You know what-”

 

“I haven’t seen her around the house much lately.” Ian cut Lip off at the pass. He slung his arm around Lip’s shoulders to forcibly hold him in place. “I don’t think any of us have seen her in a nearly a month, actually. Isn’t that right?”

 

“Yeah. She’s been AWOL.” Lip agreed, letting his frame loosen. “In fact, if you see her could you tell her I said ‘hi’?”

 

The overly painted woman with the mike laughed too long. “I will do that. Anyway, she’s not important. What is important is that you have finally reunited with your parents! Isn’t amazing to have them here on the red carpet tonight?”

 

The words floated to Ian on a chilled breeze. It froze him inside until it leaked out to his skin sending goosebumps scattering across his arms.

 

“What?” Carl was the first of them to unfreeze. His neck swung this way and that until it froze off to their left.

 

Ian couldn’t even look until he heard Debbie’s soft whisper of “Mom?” from off camera.

 

“Debs, no.” Ian walked away from the interview a little too slow to keep her from weaving through the crowd towards them. Ian wondered what sucker paid for Frank’s tailored suit. It’d be rags before dawn.

 

The pair of them were basking in the warm glow of camera flashes. With each blink Frank tilted a little this way or that, showing off the amount of alcohol clogging his system. Monica, who was clearly feeling no pain at the top of a manic cycle, posed and reposed between every one of the clicks.

 

“Debs!” She called loudly when she saw her youngest daughter heading her way.

 

“What are you doing here?” Ian expected Debbie to walk into Monica’s arms. It’s what she did every time the pair of assholes decided to play house for a minute. But this was not the young naive Debbie from Southie. She was a teenager now, old enough to know the betrayals for what they were.

 

“FRANK GALLAGHER!” Mickey’s voice boomed even over the throng of people watching the drama unfold. “WHAT’D I TELL YOU? HUH?”

 

“Time to go!” Frank tittered nervously. He waved at the cameras one more time before dragging Monica away. Mickey was slicing through the crowd of celebrities and entourages with deadly intent toward the inebriated pair.

 

Ian intercepted him half-way there. “Let them go.”

 

“Hell no. I owe that motherfucker the beating of his life.”

 

“How’d they get in? Who let them in?” Debbie was yelling through tears. More flashes lit across her skin. Mickey stepped between her and them.

 

“Let’s go find out. Has Mandy shown you how to use that butterfly knife yet? No? Guess we’ll have to settle for fists tonight.” Ian watched as Mickey carefully shielded her until they were inside the theater. As soon as they disappeared he left their wake to go find Fiona. She was standing next to V, the two of them looking like they were calling in the destruction of a small army. They were switching between talking on phones, to each other and to the security guards surrounding them.

 

“Ian, get back into interviews.” Fiona barked when he was within earshot.

 

“You must be fucking kidding me! No way.”

 

“Yes, Ian. Now. We’re going to show those fuckers that it takes more than that to bring down a Gallagher.”

 

Fake smiling his way through the next half hour was one of the tougher trials of Ian’s life. When they finally made it through the last hurdle of paparazzi into the theater he was exhausted. Debbie was uncharacteristically stoic next to Mickey. Lip flipped one foot over the chair in front of him as he sat down next to her.

 

“Come on.” Mick said, tugging Ian back up the aisle toward the Men’s room. “I need a smoke.”

 

Mickey lit up right next to the big red sign with the slash across a pack of cigarettes. Again Ian’s mouth twitched for something intangible.

 

“You said you told Frank.”

 

“What?”

 

“When you saw Frank. You said, “What’d I tell you?”. What’d you tell him?”

 

Mickey averted his gaze the way he always did when a lie was making it’s way out. “Last time I saw him I told him I’d kick his ass next time we were walking down the same street. You know he deserves it.”

 

“Yeah,” Ian nodded, “I know. But we both know that’s not exactly the truth, is it?”

 

“Holy shit.” Mickey rubbed his palms into his eye sockets. “We really got to do this right now?”

 

“I’m just,” Ian sighed, “It’s just been shitty day. Tell me something. Something real. Anything.”

 

“Jesus.” Mickey took a drag too long to be natural. Ian was about to give up when Mickey exhaled deep and said, “I hate these award shows. Not because I have to get cleaned up and shit, but because my Mom used to love these fucking things. Made us watch every one of them while she smoked meth. You ever smelled meth? It’s like fucking rotten mayonnaise. Shit’s nasty. When she finally OD’d I thought, well at least I don’t have to watch that shit anymore. Now fucking look at me. I can’t even fast forward through the fucking commercial breaks to make it shorter.”

 

Ian’s thumb found the hollow of Mickey’s throat as he pulled him into a kiss. The kiss survived in the space that lingered between heavy passion and a light peck.

 

“Ugh.” A heavy set man who clearly had too much money to spend on the gold watch dripping off his wrist shook his head at them in the mirror while he washed his hands.

 

“Fuck off.” Mickey threw at him. The man scurried out in a flurry of more disappointed looks. Mickey stubbed out his cigarette in a sick before tossing it.

 

“This is a shitty night.” Ian leaned heavy against the wall, letting it keep him upright. “What do you think Fiona would do to me if I fell asleep during one of the performances?”

 

“Something involving your manhood or mine.”

 

A hulking security guard burst into the bathroom.

 

“Dude, the fuck?”

 

“Someone reported a couple having sex in here.” He gave them a pointed look. “I think it’s time for you to take your seats.”

 

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yep. Shitty fucking night.”

 

They won two awards, letting Liam give both speeches since he was the most adorable and least affected by the night’s atmosphere. Mickey made digs at each presenter sharing every dirty detail he knew about them. When the cameras panned their way Ian would smile politely while Mickey scowled at them. It looked for just a moment like the night might actually turn around.

 

Mickey left to prepare with his band for their performance. Ian hated the empty seat next to him. People kept walking up during breaks to make small talk. Pretending to be a part of their upper-class world came easier to Ian than it did to Lip or Fiona, but that didn’t make him like it any more.

 

From the seat fillers behind them pointed whispers were followed by laughter down toward 4Ever’s seats. Lip wasn’t having any of it.

 

“You got something to say, fucking say it!” He growled at the twentysomethings still giggling away.

 

“Dude, isn’t that your girlfriend?”

 

One of the guys held his phone out toward them. Ian leaned forward to see what was happening on the small screen. It was Karen, naked, riding some guy in a recliner with her back to the camera. Lip snatched the device out of the guy’s hand.

 

She twisted around to look into the camera, “What do you think Daddy? Am I still a whore?”

 

As she leaned the man came into view. It was fucking Frank.

 

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Ian swore as he scrambled to take out his own phone. He prayed it was a trick of the dim theater lights and his own fucked up imagination, but there she was. Unabashedly fucking their dad in what looked like their own mansion. Lip had gone unnaturally still.

 

As the video ended it cut to Karen sitting clothed at her desk a close up of her face. “Hey everybody, DaddyzGirl here. Did you enjoy that? Well, I have a few more tricks up my sleeve. You see, I heard Ian and Mikael talking, and they said something about a contract. Silly me, I thought they might be faking the whole dating thing, so I set up a camera in Ian’s room to see what they really get up to at night.”

 

Ian’s vision tunneled down to just the screen. Had they ever talked about the arrangement in the house? Did they talk about how they would break up? When their scheduled dates were?

 

“Turns out they spend most nights fucking each other’s brains out! I love to see two guys getting it on, and I’ll bet you do too! If I can get 50 million hits before 6:00 tomorrow night I’ll do a special presentation of their video. Find out here who’s really the bottom. Love you, Daddy!”

 

“And now introducing the band with the current #1 album in the country, The Alibi!”

 

Ian dropped his phone, plastered on a fake smile and clapped as Mickey lit up the stage. He didn’t hear a word they sang.

  
  
  



	13. Assault

“What the fuck did you just say?” Mickey was really hoping he’d just misheard over the crashing of Lip breaking every glass item in the greenroom. The backstage reaction cameras had been less than politely shoved out so that the freak-out wasn’t caught on film.

 

“Karen made a sex tape of her and Frank.” V was talking to him in a low soothing voice, like he was a fucking infant about to throw a fit.

 

“No, I got that part. But I think that you might have said something about her making a sex tape of me and Ian. That’s the shit I’m sure I heard wrong because how the FUCK could she have done that?”

 

“A security guy came forward. She said she wanted extra protection around the house. She told him she wanted to do the installation herself so he just sold her the… Mickey, stop!”

 

Nope. He officially didn’t give a fuck what she had to say after that. He wanted to hear what Ian had to say about the whole thing.

 

Mickey was livid, beyond livid. He was the essence of bottled burning rage, but it simmered as he walked up. Ian was sitting on what had to be a jizz infested sofa with his head in his hands. All Mickey had to do was shrug at him.

 

“God, Mickey. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.”

 

Mickey grabbed him by the hair, “What’d I tell you about apologizing for shit that isn’t your fault? Now stop fucking crying. What are we going to do? Put a hit out? Get a fucking injunction?”

 

“How the fuck do you know what an injunction is? Did you even make it out of elementary school?” Lip spat out.

 

Mickey didn’t even hesitate before knocking Lip on his ass. Ian held Lip back from getting his own hit in.

 

“You don’t get to say shit right now!” Mickey yelled at the struggling Gallagher “You let her into our house. This is your fucking mess. Fuck you!”

 

“You’re just afraid that everyone’s going to know that you’re the bitch!”

 

“Whatever. Liking what I like don’t me a bitch.”

 

“FUCKING KNOCK IT OFF!” Fiona roared at them. “It’s not Lip’s fault Karen went psycho and it is everybody’s problem! The lawyers are on it, but we can’t do anything because no one can find Karen.”

 

Lip shoved off the hands on him to light up a cigarette. “So tell us, Obi Wan, what the fuck are we going to do about it?”

 

Fiona looked to V who nodded back at her. “Everybody out. We need to talk to Ian and Mickey alone for a minute.”

 

Lip took a half hearted swing at Mickey as he went by. Mickey slapped it down and shot a jab at his ribs. Carl had to drag Lip away from him.

 

“Don’t just stand there awkwardly. Spit it out.” Ian snapped at the girls who really were just giving each other knowing looks.

 

“Alright,” V moved into her power stance. “There’s only nine days left on the contract. We’ve been trying to figure out how to break you up with no fallout, but no matter what we do the tabloids were going to say someone cheated. The paps will eat you up if go out together this week anyway, so we’re just going to have you stop seeing each other now. Tonight’s your last public appearance. We’ll say the video put too much strain on the relationship. Everyone gets out unscathed.”

 

Nine days. They only gave Mickey eight months with Ian, now they were taking a week away from him. His last week. 192 hours lost because Lip had bad taste in chicks. Fuck that.

 

“Are you sure that’s the best solution?” Desperation was slipping into Ian’s voice. “Won’t it make us both look weak? Like we’re cowards who can’t handle a little pressure?”

 

“Yeah!” Mickey chimed in, “Milkovich’s don’t back down from a fight.”

 

“You’re under contract. We asked the big wigs and they said you guys aren’t allowed out of it unless there are ‘extreme extenuating circumstances’, and this doesn’t qualify.” Fiona explained.

 

“You know what? I’m done. I’m just fucking done with this night and this shit.”

 

Mickey paused at the door, “Red, you fucking coming?” Ian was at his heels in an instant.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

The door to Mickey’s mansion closed behind them, and Mickey was on Ian’s mouth. Lips desperately seeking lips, sliding over each other.

 

“Mick, I want to talk about what’s going to happen.”

 

Mick licked the request away, “In the morning. Tonight’s about getting it in one last time.”

 

He meant it. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by ‘it’. He wanted Ian inside of him, and not just his cock even though he really fucking wanted that too. He wanted part of Ian’s soul in him, in the most fucked up way. Didn’t even care if that meant carving it out of Ian’s flesh without consent, Mickey just needed something that would fill the part of him that was getting torn out.

 

Ian was kissing him back softly, gentle in a way he knew Mickey hated. Rough and tumble good hard sex was always what Mickey wanted. Ian probably thought of gentle sex as making love, the fucking pussy. Not Mickey. Gentle was just another word for boring. He felt a thousand times more connected to Ian when he was pounding into Mickey with that perfect pressure, knowing exactly what could make him wild without asking. That was what being with someone, really being with them was all about.

 

So Mickey took charge of the kiss, turning it into what he needed. Ian was helpless to stop himself from answering every nip with his own bites. It didn’t take long for Ian to start manipulating Mickey’s tongue to what he wanted. Fuck Mickey loved it when Ian was in charge.

 

“God, you always kiss me like you’re dying for it.” Ian said in between sucking a path down Mickey’s neck.

 

“I am, I’m fucking dying for it. Give it to me.”

 

Damn. That sounded needy as shit. Luckily Ian ate that shit up. He devoured Mickey, sucking hickeys into his collarbones while groping his hard on through his pants.

 

“Is Mandy here?”

 

The question jolted Mickey out of his world revolving around Ian’s mouth.

 

“Uh, I don’t think so? The lights were off and my Jag’s gone.”

 

“I’d still rather not fuck where she can interrupt us.”

 

“Right. Bedroom?”

 

Mickey despised the reprieve. It left too much time for his blood to cool off, for the spell to break. Inside his room he had to rev Ian back up to the delicious frenzy they’d began. Clothing was being shed onto the floor while hands found soft skin and hard planes. When they were both fully naked Mickey turned his back to Ian, presenting his hole.

 

“No. Face to face. I want to see you.”

 

Mickey laid on his back, but turned his face to look for the lube.

 

“I got it.” Ian grabbed the tube and turned Mickey’s head by the chin. Ian forced him to hold the gaze as his fingers started working Mickey open. He didn’t want Ian seeing the dumb ass faces he made when he was getting fingered. He wanted their last night together to fill Ian’s head with pictures of him being cool and composed. Instead Ian was getting the surround-sound version of Mickey loving every second of being the bottom he was.

 

Ian usually opened him up real slow, not fast pounding. Mick’s eyes rolled back in his head.

 

“No, look at me.” He drifted in and out of focus as he tried to keep his eyes forward through the onslaught of sensation. “Such a good little cock slut.”

 

Fuck if that didn’t do it for Mickey. He went from moaning like a dumb-ass to thrashing around, begging for dick like he needed to for survival.

 

“Please, please Ian. I want it so bad. I’m ready, just give it to me.”

 

“Give you what?”

 

Mickey was more than prepared to keep begging, but Ian didn’t bother waiting for a reply. He sank into Mickey in one slow stroke that burned in all the right ways. Mickey savored the pain that came with the entry of a cock too big for comfort.

 

“Fuck, yes. Just like that.” His eyes fluttered shut for an instant before Ian slapped him on the chest.

 

“Keep your eyes open, or I stop.”

 

Mickey hated the man reflected in Ian’s eyes. That version of him was soft and needy. Every version knew that he’d do anything to keep Ian moving in and out of him at that gorgeous pace though.

 

“You make me so fucking horny,” fell out of Mickey’s mouth. It was a better alternative to him talking about how he was hoping to rip a chunk of Ian’s very essence out of him.

 

“Fuck, Mick.”

 

They were reduced to grunts and thrusts and eye contact from there. Mickey knew that Ian was giving part of himself over, but far more was going back the other way. Too much of himself was getting lost. His climax was approaching faster than he wanted, and he knew Ian could tell. The thrusts got harder, shallower, choppier. Ian wrapped one big hand around Mickey’s cock and suddenly Mickey couldn’t stop himself from spraying all over his chest.

 

“Uh, it’s so good. You’re so good.” Ian grunted into him.

 

Mickey pumped out a little more cum with each phrase until he was dry and Ian was cumming inside of him. Mickey rolled out of bed quick. He cleaned himself off quietly in the bathroom before tossing Ian a towel.

 

That was it. It was over. No more relationship. No more talking, no more fucking, no more trying to pry something out of Ian that Mickey wasn’t even sure he fucking wanted. Tomorrow he was going to be branded Ian’s bottom bitch, and he wasn’t even sure he minded the title. Or, he wouldn’t have minded it, if he could just keep being that. But he couldn’t. Life was about to go to shit, and he didn’t want to fucking cope for a while. He wanted to pass the fuck out. He crawled into bed and curled onto his side praying that maybe Ian would get the fucking memo.

 

“Hey Mick?”

 

“Jesus. Go the fuck to sleep, Firecrotch.”

 

“No.” Ian rolled Mickey onto his back so they could be face to face. “We never talk. This is it. There is no tomorrow and I want to talk about it.”

 

Mickey flipped off the lamp light.

 

“Aw fuck you Mickey! You have feelings for me, and I have feelings for you! Man up and just admit it! Just this once.”

 

“Why do you have to be such a girl about it? It’s over. Contract terminated. It doesn’t matter how we feel about it or each other.”

 

Ian ran a hand down Mickey’s torso. “It doesn’t have to be like that. We could still talk. Let’s let this shit blow over and start hooking up after the Asian tour.”

 

Mickey heard something from downstairs.

 

“I really like you and I-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Mick, come on.”

 

“No, I mean it. Shut the fuck up for a minute.” He put his hand over Ian’s mouth. Sure as shit there were light footsteps from at least 3 people walking up the stairs.

 

Mickey pulled Ian’s ear close, “They probably don’t know I’m alone. I’ll pretend to be asleep, you get the jump at the door.”

 

“You know it’s probably just your staff.” Ian whispered back.

 

“Just fucking do it.”

 

At least Ian was quiet as he slipped out of bed over to where the swing of the door would hide him. It was too dark for Mickey to see Ian rolling his eyes, but he didn’t need to see it to know it was happening.

 

Mickey laid out on his stomach, one hand on the crowbar he kept next to the bed frame. It was hard to let go of Southie sleep habits. The handle to the bedroom door started to turn, slow and steady. It sounded like nothing but danger. He had to hope that Ian knew it meant any chance it was paranoia was gone. Mickey hit the emergency call button on his phone and just let it go.

 

Mickey knew it was his dad by smell alone, even before he said, “Wake up, Faggot.” He thought the asshole had at least two more years before he was even up for parole. He’d been so busy trying to fuck Ian on the way in the door he hadn’t even thought about setting the alarms.

 

Mickey tightened his grip to swing, then he heard the shot go off. He came up swinging to see Ian fighting Terry for the gun in his grip. Two of his father’s fat fuck friends were standing there rocking from foot to foot, clearly too drunk and too stunned by Ian to jump in. One went down with his first swing, the second was fast enough to catch the crowbar on the upswing.

 

He got in a good crack in on Mickey’s nose while they wrestled with the iron. He played up the pain and watery eyes so that he could head butt the fucker into the wall. With one wind up and crack the man was knocked out cold. Mickey turned his focus back to the other fray. Ian and Terry were trading blows, gun forgotten on the ground. Mickey jumped on his Dad’s back and smacked his left ear with an open palm. Terry screamed and fell to one knee.

 

Mick wrapped an arm around Terry’s throat. The asshole slammed them both into a wall, knocking the wind out of Mickey’s lungs. He kept his grip until Terry swung around, flinging Mickey into the corner of the dresser. Ian roared and slammed his shoulder into Terry’s stomach. Mickey was just starting to wonder if he was bleeding when the sirens sounded.

 

“About fucking time.”

 

“You would call the pigs you piece of shit! No son of mine is going to be a fucking cocksucker!”

 

“Well guess what TOO FUCKING LATE ASSHOLE!”

 

“POLICE!”

 

While Terry was distracted Mickey kicked him in the nuts. Just because. Terry screamed and lunged just as the cops came in.

 

The policewoman cuffed the men on the floor while the other tried to separate them as they rolled throwing punches.

 

“He doesn’t live here!” Ian was helping hold back fists. “He broke in with a gun and started shooting.”

 

“Damn right I did! I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll die before I let you become a fucking pillow biter! Making a fucking sex tape of your disgusting perversions! You make me sick!”

 

Mickey was tired of it. So fucking tired of thinking he was wrong just because he was raised by this asshole. Tired of thinking being gay was something he chose, or like a punishment or some shit. No, fuck that.

 

“Well you were in jail a long fucking time asshole and guess what we've been doing, daddy! We've been fucking! And I take it! He gives it to me good and hard, and I fucking like it!” Ian dragged Mickey to one side as the cop dragged a cuffed Terry to the other.

 

“I'm gonna cut your balls in little pieces and shove them up your ass so far, you grow ball trees, you fuck.” The five feet of space between them didn’t stop Mickey from kicking at Terry.

 

“Fuck you! I suck his dick. I fucking love it!”

 

“Sir! Sir! I’m going to need you to calm down.” Terry just spat in her face in response. Then the taser came out. The twitching made Mickey laugh harder than he had in years.

 

The cop not making his Dad twitch turned to them. “I’m not going to cuff the two of you, but we are going to need you to make a statement as some point.”

 

“Sounds fair.” Mickey grunted out. The adrenaline was wearing off leaving soreness in its wake.

 

The lady cop was still just standing there looking awkward.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re both naked.”

 

Mickey looked down. “Shit. Forgot about that.” He pulled on the nearest pants.

 

He spotted Ian’s and walked them over. He caught a glimpse of Ian’s stomach. “Dude, did you get shot?”

 

A small but steady stream of blood was flowing off to the left of Ian’s six-pack. Mickey ran a thumb up and down Ian’s side, trying to steady his heart out.

 

“Did I?” Ian checked his abs. “Huh. I thought he missed. Looks like a small caliber.”

 

“Sir, we’ve got an ambulance on the way. Just stop moving and apply pressure.”

 

Ian chuckled, “Or I could put pants on. I think this will garner enough press without having to add dick to it. And the name’s Ian. Nice to meet you.”

 

Micky offered Ian a shoulder to use as a crutch as they hobbled down to the ambulance. The officers stayed behind to wait for back-up to bring down the three home invaders.

 

“I think I chipped a tooth.” Mickey sucked down, and sure enough there was an empty space.

 

“We’ll get you to a dentist after they patch up my wounds.” Ian smirked.

 

“You’re going to be a total asshole about this aren’t you? ‘I took a bullet for you, suck my dick whenever I want’.”

 

Ian laughed, then clutched at his ribs. “Like you don’t do that anyway.”

 

The street lit up with the flashes of a few stubborn paps who were always outside Mickey’s house. “You need to call Fiona. If she hears you got shot from TMZ she’ll have our balls.”

 

“You should call her. I’ve been shot.” Ian smirked.

 

The EMTs took over, strapping Ian onto the gurney, taking blood pressure, and asking him what hurt. One of them tried to mop down Mickey’s face. He swatted them away assuring them that he’d seen his fair share of fist fights. Ian stared Mickey down as they rode together toward the hospital.

 

“I can already see the headline… Ian Gallagher dies after no one tells his sister he’s been injured…”

 

“Fucking fine. You’re an asshole.” He prayed for voicemail. It rang 5 times before she picked up.

 

“It’s 3:00 in the fucking morning. Someone had better be dying.”

 

“… No one’s dying. I don’t think,” Mickey looked to the EMTs just to check. They shook their heads. “Yeah, so, not dying, but Ian might have gotten a little… shot.”

 

“You had better mean by a camera.”

 

“That too, but also a .22.”

 

“I LEAVE YOU TWO ALONE FOR TWO FUCKING HOURS-”

 


	14. I Like You Too

When they got to the hospital the nurses tried to make Mickey go off to his own room to get examined. He said he’d like to meet the nurse who was going to try to keep them apart. The stalemate ended with him agreeing to get looked at as long as they ended up in the same hospital room. Mickey rolled his bed closer to Ian’s before sitting on it just to be an asshole.

 

Mickey was left alone with his thoughts while Ian was wheeled away for x-rays to determine the extent of the damage. His head wasn’t really the best place for him to be, especially since the fuckers didn’t allow smoking or drinking. He was having a stressful fucking night, he should be allowed to kill his brain cells however he wanted. Probably would have been smoking in the bathroom if he’d thought to grab a pack on the way out.

 

Ignoring the fact that gunshot wounds could do serious damage was easy when Ian was next to him, joking and pink skinned. Then the fucking doctors had to come in all doom and gloom. Internal ricochet possibilities. Severe bleeding likely. No exit wound.

 

Fuck those people.

 

Ian could be dying, actually fucking dying because Mickey wanted to get fucked one last time before they went their separate ways. He was a fucking douchebag.

 

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” Fiona burst into the room followed by a gaggle of other Gallagher kids. She hugged him. Wrapped her arms around him so quickly he went into defense mode and had to bite his lip to keep from throwing her off. She backed up about 2 inches to take his face in her hands.

 

“Look at those black eyes!” She went in for another hug. This time Mickey awkwardly patted her on the back with one hand.

 

“Nothing new. Please stop touching me.”

 

“Where’s Ian?” Debbie asked searching the hall like he’d gone for coffee.

 

“X-rays. Got to see where the bullet went.”

 

“Cool! Where’d he get shot?” Carl was eerily calm and happy.

 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a little fucked in the head?”

 

“Yeah.” Carl shrugged like it was nothing new.

 

“Stomach. Way off to the left. He was walking and talking just fine. He’ll be okay.” Mickey could be okay with being a liar if shit went bad.

 

Debbie invited herself up onto his bed. “Mandy said your Dad was still in jail. When did he get paroled?”

 

“Fucked if I know.”

 

“Knock knock.” Yeah, fucking police guy actually said knock knock while rapping on the door. Jesus. “I think we can answer that.”

 

Mickey hadn’t really looked at them before, what with trying to kick Terry’s ass and all. The chick was tall and muscular with a severe slicked back black bun. The man was so tall he dwarfed the chick. He was blond and looked like he was the nicest guy ever.

 

“Your father was released a week ago. He broke parole leaving Illinois, and that’s before the intoxication and assault charges.” The woman was reading off a list on her cell phone. “We won’t be needing you or Mr. Gallagher to come make a statement unless you want to. He signed a confession saying he would do it again. He was apparently outraged when he heard about a… sex tape scandal involving you and the other victim.”

 

“It’s not like we’re the ones who made it!” 

 

The policewoman blushed bright red. “In any case, Mr. Milkovich is being processed as we speak.”

 

“Heh. He’ll have fun being the guy who got his ass beat by a couple of fags.”

 

Debbie piped up, “Mickey, I can still live with you while the band’s on the Asian tour, right? I’ve made some friends at school, I’ve been keeping my grades up-”

 

“Slow down. Who’s kicking you out?”

 

Fiona cleared her throat, “I just thought, that with  everything ,” her hint was not subtle, “maybe Debs should come with us. Your house might not be the best place for her.”

 

“Fuck that,” He looked right at Debbie. “You want to stay? You can stay. I told you I’d let you stay till graduation.”

 

She nodded so hard her neck had to hurt. “Mandy’s been teaching me all sorts of self defense. If I had been there it would have been a much shorter fight.”

 

“If you’d been there,” A chorus of ‘Ian!’ sounded as he was wheeled in by a nurse. “Fiona would be killing Terry with her bare hands right now.”

 

“Damn straight.” Fiona looked him over the same way she’d done to Mickey. “You don’t look like someone who’s just been shot.”

 

“I got lucky. Bullet went in at an angle, only hit muscle, no organs. It’s lodged right back here.” He leaned forward to show off a huge bruise on his back. “They’re debating if they should do surgery or just leave it. Turns out removing it might do more damage than just letting tissue grow over it.”

 

Ian’s eyes were dropping, no doubt from the IV full of drugs attached to his arm.

 

“Alright, get the fuck out. I’m tired.” Mickey announced. They went through another round of hugs, which was fucking awful, and then left the room with the quiet hum of too many machines.

 

“You gonna be here when I wake up?” Ian asked sleepily.

 

“Where the fuck would I go?”

 

Ian was asleep before his head was turned into the pillow. It was a fair question. Where the fuck was he going to go? His house was tainted with memories of Ian. He didn’t want to go back to fucking anonymous assholes in alleyways outside of dirty clubs.

 

A nurse stuck her head in, “I have one more guest for you. Want to say hi, or is it bedtime?”

 

“Why the fuck not,” he sighed, so fucking done with the night. “What’s one more?”

 

“Hey.” The only sound V made walking in was the click of her heels. “You must have a problem with normal. You can’t seen to stay anywhere near it.”

 

She sat in one of the ugly upholstered red chairs. “I saw the Gallaghers leaving. How are they doing?”

 

“They’ve seen too much bad shit to let this faze them. As long as he’s fine, they’re fine.”

 

“Good. Now let’s talk business.”

 

“Fuck, really V?”

 

“Hell yes! I have been on the phone with the lawyers all night. Do you have any idea how bad we would look if you broke up with the guy who took a bullet for you?”

 

Mickey shoved hope back into the tiny box it crawled out of. “The fuck do you mean?”

 

“I mean, that as far as I’m concerned these are some pretty extreme fucking circumstances. We’re going to have to postpone the end of the contract maybe indefinitely.” She looked smug as fuck.

 

“Or we could say that he broke up with me because my Pops fucking shot him.”

 

“Excuse me? Do you want this, or not? I found you a motherfucking loophole in the middle of a shitty situation and you’re trying to back out? The fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Mickey sighed, “Give me till tomorrow. I’ll think about it.”

 

“Think about it?” V shot out of her chair. “I am so fucking over your bullshit. You’re lucky you pay me huge amounts of money or I’d be kicking your ass right now. Think about it. Fucking dick.” She stormed out.

 

Ian slept through the whole thing. Mickey decided to try to follow suit.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Every hour all night a nurse woke Ian up to check on him, which meant Mickey was awake every hour all night too. It put him in a pissy fucking mood. 

 

When Mandy texted him at 7:00 to tell him she’d wrecked one of his cars he nearly destroyed his phone.

 

“Mick, are you awake?”

 

“Yeah. Who can sleep with all the beeping.” Mickey rolled to look at Ian. He still looked a little loopy, but otherwise the fucker looked damn good.

 

“Thanks for staying.” The sheer sincerity fucked Mickey up.

 

“V stopped by last night. Said she talked to the lawyers. They’ll extend the contract if we want.”

 

“Really?!” Firecrotch looked like a kid at fucking Christmas.

 

“Yeah. I don’t think you should take it.”

 

“You don’t want to be with me.” It was a statement. Like Ian had been thinking it all along.

 

“Is that what I fucking said? No. I said I don’t think you should. My Dad just shot you. Fucking showed up with a gun to kill people because we’re together. You should run like fucking hell. Being with me is a bad fucking idea, okay? So just say no, and we’ll say that you left because I treated you like shit. We’ll say I cheated with one of the murses while you were in recovery. You can make it out of this.”

 

Ian was smiling. Why the fuck would that make him smile? “Mick, my brother’s fuck buddy made a video of herself fucking our Dad and planted cameras in my room. It’s not like my family isn’t fucked up.”

 

“Not as fucked as mine. You’re not the sore fucking thumb sticking out all the time. I am. Why the fuck would you want to stay with me?”

 

Ian futzed around with the railings on the beds until there was nothing separating them. He grabbed Mickey’s hand without even asking. “I told you Monica is bipolar. Well, it’s about the only thing she gave to me. When I was 17 I started cycling up and down. I went so high before crashing down, no drugs required. I sometimes spent weeks running around conquering the world, then a month straight in bed. When I finally got treatment the drugs leveled me out. It’s nice, not feeling the lows, but I miss the highs. I was on top of the fucking world.”

 

“What the fuck does that have to do with the contract?”

 

“When I’m with you, I’m high.”

 

They hadn’t brushed their teeth, and were both more than a little ripe, but Mickey kissed him anyway.

 

“We should get married.”

 

Ian’s eyes went so fucking wide they looked like they might burst.

 

“Not in like an over the top Kimye bullshit way. Let’s find a church in like fucking Wisconsin or something that doesn’t have internet and let’s just fucking get married. I want to see how long it takes the paps to find out.”

 

“That sounds really nice.” Ian was dead serious. Good. Mickey was too.

 

“But you have to tell V and Fiona.”

 

He’s said yes. The fucking moron actually agreed to marry Mickey. What the fuck was he thinking? What was Mickey thinking? He caught Ian’s tiny smile and knew. He was thinking about freckles and red hair and being told he was worth it. Mickey was actually being smart as fuck. He just had to hope that Ian kept being just stupid enough to think it was a good deal

 

“That’s not fair! You asked me! You have to tell them! Fiona would love to plan a huge fucking wedding. If you want something small you have to tell her.”

 

“Fuck no, I asked so you have to tell her. Besides you got a better chance of convincing her than me.”

 

Ian huffed, “Fine. But I want a ring.”

 

“I can do that.”

 


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long to put this chapter up! I wrote it forever ago and somehow convinced myself this series was already finished!

“Hello to everyone who’s just joining us! This is 94.3 and the Morning Crash here with two bands who are huge at the moment, we have with us The Alibi and Seven Car Pile Up.”

There are a chorus of hellos as the introduce every member of each band. Mickey hates these things. It’s so much easier for the press to make shit up if there’s audio with no video. They’re all piled onto stools, him and his boys around one mike, the assholes around another. The DJ is a beefed-up tan guy wearing shades inside. Way too over the top for radio.

They’ve never done an interview with another band and Mickey already fucking hates it. The fucking bass player for the Seven Pieces of Shit tried to pick a fight with Iggy in the green room. Mick broke it up before punches were thrown, but there may have been a few cans of soda thrown around. Fuck, he’d probably have to pay for the drywall they fucked up. At least seeing them reminded him of that mostly naked picture of Ian he'd posted. He forgot all about that, it'd be great jack off material while Ian was on tour.

“Alight, so Mickey, I was hoping to start with you. It’s been one year since the bashing incident and the almost leak of the sex tape.”

“Did you know that Ian’s still got the bullet in him?” Joey jumps in. “If you press on his back you can still feel it under his skin. Freaky as hell man.” Joey loves doing that. Rolling the bullet underneath Ian’s muscles. Mickey punches him every time he does it.

“No way!” The female co-anchor sticks her tongue out in disgust. She’s clearly also a station manager. She keeps turning off her mike to deal with shit backstage. She’s just as over-done as her co-worker, with thick red blush and blue eyeshadow all over the place. At least she’s doing actual work.

“Why wouldn’t they take that out?”

“They said it’d fu- mess him up more doing surgery. It’s not going to go anywhere.” Mickey hopes his face makes it clear that he’s ready to move on.

“Wow, I would not expect that. Now, after Karen’s unfortunate car accident the alleged sex tape was never released, but also never recovered. Are you afraid that it’ll ever see the light of day?”

A year. A whole fucking year of this bullshit and he’s still answering questions about it.

“Nah, I’m not sure it ever existed in the first place. I think she made the whole thing up. That girl was having some serious issues at the time.”

“If I can just step in here,” Jared, the asshat lead singer, leans into the mike, no doubt to unleash some douche onto the world, “She released a 10 second preview that night. I think it does exist, and if TMZ has taught us anything it’s that everything comes out eventually. Someone is going to find it, and they’re going to publish it.”

SO much douche. Mickey as always is incapable of keeping his mouth shut around idiots. “It is totally possible to hide stuff from the press. People do it all the time. If you’re not an idiot you can keep your private life private.”

“No, you can’t.” Jared scoffs. “I’ll bet you couldn’t keep something big like that from the press for more than a few months, if that.”

Mickey grins. It’s just too easy. “A bet you say? $50 bucks says I can keep something big from the press for more than 6 months. Now, before you accept, remember the embarrassing defeat last time you made a bet with me. How many more re-tweets than you did I get? A couple dozen thousand? Something like that?”

“Oh you are on!” Jared shakes his hand.

Mickey takes out his wallet, chuckling, and removes a worn piece of paper. “Here, I’ll hand this over to a neutral party for review.”

“What’s this?” the dude asks, unfolding the paper. The woman leans over and gasps into her mike.

“It’s a marriage certificate!” She starts laughing hysterically.

“I’m going to call myself the official commissioner of this bet,” the guy says adjusting his glasses, “And I have to give this one to Mickey. This says that he’s been married to Ian Gallagher for over 9 months now. You heard it here first! A big belated congratulations to Mickey and Ian on their nuptials! Congrats man!”

“Thanks.” Mickey holds his hand out to Jared, just waiting for his fucking money.

The other singer covers his mike and says, “I fucking hate you.”

“Like I give a shit. I told you I never lose a bet.”

Mickey thinks it turns out to be a pretty decent interview.


End file.
